


These Bleeding Feet (Dance Only For You)

by JinxedAmbitions



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Bottom Castiel, Brief mentions of alcoholism, Community: deancasbigbang, Dancer Castiel, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2014, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Kid Fic, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Mentions of John Winchester's shitty parenting, Mentions of Past Homelessness, Minor Body Horror, Past Anna Milton/Dean Winchester, Past Castiel/OC, Past Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 38,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxedAmbitions/pseuds/JinxedAmbitions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has danced his entire life. It has always been his dream to dance en pointe in the Russian Ballet; however, his mother and his instructors encourage him to stick to the classical style. Castiel leaves his family and the ballet academy behind to come to Chicago for a chance to dance as he has dreamed.</p><p>While he trains in a tiny unheated studio, he meets Dean Winchester who has come to fix the heater. They build an unlikely friendship as Cas trains for the production. Dean doesn’t understand the first thing about ballet, but he teaches Castiel about friendship and family, and Castiel has never danced so well as when he performs for Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Elle. Thank you so much for helping me with edits and any dumb questions I had.
> 
> Art by the wonderfully talented Jani. Thank you so much for such beautiful artwork.  
> Masterpost on [LJ](http://nevertoldmewhat.livejournal.com/1730.html) and on [Tumblr](http://nevertoldmewhatiswrong.tumblr.com/)

 

Part 1

The studio Castiel practices in is always cold.  He doesn't know if the landlord doesn't want to pay for the heating bill, or if they heard he was Russian and just assumed he couldn't feel the chill in the air. That isn't the case; Castiel has taken to dancing in an over-sized sweater and thick leggings. This inhibits his movements just enough to frustrate him.  He knows he can kick higher, spin more cleanly, make better lines in his arabesques. His jumps are unaffected by the heavy material, but he feels like he cannot dance his best, and he moved halfway around the world to dance his best.

Castiel had trained since he was six years old to one day be a great dancer in the Russian Ballet, and before he was six, he was under the strict tutelage of his mother. It was a family legacy, but dancing was Castiel's passion, so it was not a legacy he felt burdened by. However, from the time that he learned first position and did his first plie, Castiel had been mesmerized by the ballerinas who danced en pointe. Their silhouettes, their spins, and their jumps excited Castiel. He told everyone that he would dance en pointe when he one day performed, but everyone from his parents and siblings to his teachers told him men didn't dance that way. It was not tradition, and he would follow tradition.

Castiel had saved every bit of money he could as he grew, and when he turned sixteen he bought himself a pair of pointe shoes. He would sneak into the school's studios at night and teach himself to do the exercises the ladies did. It was grueling on top of his already rigorous practice schedule, but Castiel wanted it more than anything. He never told anyone, and he made sure to cover his bloody feet at all times. It was three years of daunting practice and narrowly avoided injuries before Castiel was confident enough in his ability to show anyone else.

His mother had scoffed when he spun for her. She told him it was novel but would not get him leading roles. “You want to be an ass? You dance en pointe. You want to be the prince? You dance classical,” she said before she told him to work on his technique, because his pirouette was sloppy. His teachers were not much more impressed. They told him that he executed it well, but it was ultimately an unmarketable skill because no choreographer was going to create a part for him. Castiel accepted their criticisms, but he didn't stop pushing himself to be a better dancer.

He got several of the young women at the school to help him, and they were more than willing to put him through the grueling practices they had to do regularly. They giggled when he fell as they did and told him it wasn't as easy as it looked now that he had to do it. Castiel laughed with them and listened carefully when they demonstrated for him again.

Castiel landed his first starring role when he was twenty-one. When he showed them his ability and suggested they choreograph it so he would dance en pointe, they laughed at him. They told him to join the Trocaderos if he wanted to dance the 'woman's part.' Slowly but surely his dreams of being as graceful and ethereal as the ballerinas he'd watched as a child were crushed. He was given many starring roles, but it was always bittersweet, because he knew he could do so much more.

By the time Castiel was thirty, he had all but given up on his dream. Then one day he read that an American company was looking to incorporate men en pointe into one of their next season's performances. Castiel knew it might be his only opportunity, so he spent hours on the phone trying to arrange an audition in stilted English. Eventually, a woman named Meg called him back, and when he explained that yes he was _the_ Castiel Novak, she was more than willing to accommodate him with an audition.

His family disowned him for all intents and purposes when he told them he was pursuing an opportunity in America, but Castiel knew that he could not give up such a chance just to meet his family's misguided idea of success and tradition. It took over a month of calls to the embassy and airlines, and some particularly daunting phone calls to landlords about living arrangements, but he eventually stepped foot on American soil with renewed hopes for his career.

Since arriving, Castiel has done nothing but practice. He found a small studio that would rent him a practice room all to himself if they were allowed to advertise that he danced with them. Castiel did not care if they used his name, so long as he had a place to dance any time he wanted. The only problem is the cold.

He still has three weeks until his audition, and he is trying to put together something that demonstrates his mastery of both classical technique as well as en pointe flourishes. Anna, who runs the studio, sits in on his practice time whenever she doesn't have a class. She isn't like the ballerinas that Castiel grew up with, but she can still tell him if he looks good or if he is too stiff. There is a definite language barrier, but she's been teaching ballet to small children long enough to demonstrate what she means in a way he can grasp.

She even brings a video camera one day, so he can dance then watch his program and critique it himself. He's grateful for all of her help, and when he asks her why the studio is always so cold she rolls her eyes.

“Zachariah is a prick. Worst landlord in Chicago, and trust me I've had a few doozies. He's so cheap, he won't hire a handyman even though the whole building is falling apart. I've got a guy coming to look into it as soon as he gets a moment, but who knows when that'll be. Try not to freeze to death in here, it'd be bad for business,” Anna tells him as she packs up for the night.

Castiel isn't sure of all that she said, but he shares her frustration. He waves her goodbye as he goes through his video again taking notes on what he needs to work on.

It's nearly ten at night, and Cas is trying to perfect a grand pirouette into an arabesque, but he's exhausted from working at it too long, and his back aches. It isn't surprising at all that he loses his balance, and his ankle gives out when someone opens the door.

“Fuck!” he shouts as he falls to the hard dance floor. A man about his age steps through the door with a shocked expression on his face. Castiel continues to yell in Russian as he quickly grabs his ankle.

“What?” the man asks as he carries a toolbox into the room.

“FUCK,” Castiel shouts, and the man looks taken aback by his outburst, but Castiel can't be bothered by that as he feels the pain shooting through his leg.

“Dude, you okay? Sorry if I frightened you, but Anna didn't say anyone would be here this late. Had I known, I would've come a different time,” the man says, but Castiel can only understand bits and pieces of it.

“You talk too fast. I cannot understand,” he says as he holds his ankle, trying to discern if it is sprained or just jarred.

“Sorry. I'm Dean. Here to fix the heater,” the man, Dean, responds slowly this time and holds up the toolbox while pointing to the heater to get his point across.

“Castiel,” he replies as he pushes himself off the floor. However, as soon as he tries to put weight on his ankle, it buckles again. Dean drops the toolbox and rushes over to his side to help him get his balance, and he helps Castiel to the chair Anna usually sits in. He takes one look at Cas' tender ankle and shakes his head.

“I'll get you an ice pack from Anna's first aid kit,” Dean says as he rushes out of the room. Cas has his shoe off by the time Dean returns holding an icepack and a bandage. He hands the pack to Cas but holds onto the bandage. “Really sorry, man,” Dean says again as he watches Castiel place the ice on his ankle. It's already beginning to swell. Castiel tries to rotate it but hisses as it causes him pain. “You mind if I take a look?” Dean asks as he motions to Castiel's ankle.

“Why?” Cas asks skeptically as Dean kneels in front of him.

“Because I've seen enough injuries in my life to be able to tell you what the damage is,” Dean says slowly. Castiel has to concentrate to follow what he's saying, but he gets the gist of it and nods reluctantly as he removes the ice pack.

Dean holds his leg by the calf and arch of his foot with gentle hands. His calluses tickle the bottom of Cas' foot, but the pain in his ankle stops him from reacting. Dean gently moves his foot to gauge the ankle's mobility. He's much gentler with Castiel than Castiel is with himself, and he gets the ankle to rotate without shooting pain. “Feels like you just twisted it. It'll be sore for a few days, but you should be back to doing whatever you were doing by the end of the week,” Dean explains as he places the ice pack back on Castiel's ankle.

“No time for injury,” Castiel says as he looks at his bloody feet. He's been pushing himself too hard. Too many hours on his toes with nearly one hundred and seventy pounds pressing them into the floor. His body simply can't handle that for as long as he expects it to.

“Shit, man. I'm really sorry...”

“Not your fault. I pushed too hard,” Castiel replies as he leans back in the chair. “Fix the heat,” he says. He knows it sounds like an order, but he isn't sure how to phrase it politely. Dean gets the picture though, because he smiles and nods.

“Yeah, yeah. I'll see what I can do about it. Don't take the ice off it for at least ten minutes,” Dean says as he pushes back to his feet.

“I am not a child. I have taken care of injuries before,” Castiel gripes, but Dean smiles at him, and it takes some of the wind out of his sails.

Castiel watches as Dean bends to look through the tool box. He has a nice ass, and his jeans hug it just so. Castiel notes the bow to his legs, and he shakes his head at how he could never be a dancer. It is a shame because the rest of him is beautiful. Not that Castiel doesn't find Dean's legs attractive, but ballet is all about lines and silhouettes, and bowlegs were anything but graceful. Castiel doesn't realize he's been muttering his thoughts aloud, until Dean turns to look at him questioningly.

“Dude, are you critiquing my ass in Russian?” he asks as he follows Cas' line of sight. Castiel doesn't even stop himself from replying.

“You do not have dancer's legs,” he replies honestly, but Dean's small frown and sudden interest in his toolbox makes Castiel realize he should not have been so blunt. Growing up in the world of dance has exposed him to the harshest of criticisms for minor infractions. He often forgets that the rest of the world doesn't accept blunt honesty the same way he's learned to. “I apologize. It is not an insult. I have danced as long as I remember. I forget not everything is dance sometimes,” he tries to explain. He fumbles over several of the words, and he pauses in awkward places, but it comes out right.

“That sounds pretty miserable,” Dean replies as he grabs a screwdriver and starts to open a panel on the heater.

“No. I love dance. I am best dancer in Russia,” he explains and Dean turns away from his task to give Castiel an incredulous look.

“Then what the hell are you doing here?” Dean asks.

“Opportunity. No men dance en pointe in Russian Ballet. That is not true, but primier danseur do not,” Castiel explains, and Dean just grunts. Castiel wishes he could better explain himself to Dean. He isn't entirely sure why, but it may partially be due to the fact that he seems interested in Castiel's world even though he looks like he has no idea what it is about. Castiel is also fascinated by the way Dean takes apart the heater with just a few tools then puts it back together without any sort of directions.

He says as much to Dean, or he tries to. Dean laughs and tells him that he's been fixing things about as long as Cas has been dancing. While Cas has trouble expressing himself in English, and he has trouble keeping up when Dean speaks too fast, he enjoys Dean's company. He is neither an avid fan obsessing over Castiel's successes, nor is he the type of person that sees Castiel in a pair of tights and ballet shoes and decides he isn't worth the time of day. Even with the barrier between them, Dean puts him at ease with his easy anecdotes and patience when Cas needs things repeated.

Castiel doesn't realize how much time has passed until Dean is putting his tools away then walking back over to where he sits. “You can take the ice off, and I'll wrap it for you,” he offers as he kneels in front of Castiel again. He wraps the ankle securely, but not so tight that Castiel won't be able to feel his toes in the morning.

“Are you parked close by, or did you take the 'L'?” Dean asks as he lets his hand linger on Cas' ankle.

“I walk. It is only four blocks,” Cas explains, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Of course you do. Well, you aren't going to make it one block on that tonight. I'll drive you to your building. Come on,” Dean says as he stands again and offers a callused hand for Castiel to pull himself up. Castiel takes the help even though his pride tells him that he's had worse injuries and carried himself without any aid. But to be honest, no one has ever offered to help him up before.

Dean supports Castiel while he pulls sweatpants over his leggings and a thick jacket over his sweater. They slowly make their way down to Dean's car which is parked on the street beside the building. It's slow going with Dean supporting Cas while also carrying his tools, but he doesn't seem to mind as he continues to talk amicably.

Castiel is impressed by the sleek black car that Dean drives, and Dean beams at him when he says as much. Dean starts to ramble, and it hurts Cas' head to try to keep up, so he just listens to the cadence of Dean's voice instead. He gives clipped directions, but Dean understands them easily enough. Within a few minutes they pull up to his building, and Dean jumps out of the car to help Cas again. Castiel tries to brush it off, but Dean is having none of it.

“I'm not about to leave you to hobble around in the middle of the night in a shitty part of Chicago just because you have pride,” Dean says as he pulls Castiel close to his side and ducks under his arm. Castiel is grateful for Dean's help when they make it to the first landing of the walk up. His whole body aches on top of the ankle injury, and Dean is definitely supporting more of his weight with every step.

Castiel opens the door to his apartment, and Dean helps him to the sofa. Dean doesn't say anything about what a dive Cas is living in, even though Cas can see him thinking it. When Cas is settled, Dean takes out a pen and grabs the corner of a takeout menu. “This is my phone number if you need anything. I know what it's like being a stranger in a big city, so if you need anything at all or if you want to grab a drink and want some company, call me,” Dean offers and then with a quick wave goodbye, he's gone.

Castiel looks at the number for several minutes before programming it into his prepaid phone. Dean is a strange man, but he is right. Castiel has no one here in Chicago, and he has few skills other than dancing. A friend cannot be a bad thing to have. He goes to bed that night after a cold bath with a smile on his face, even though his ankle still aches.

\---

The next day, Castiel's ankle is stiff, so he gets Anna to show him how to play the videos he's recorded on the television in her office instead of the tiny camera screen. He sits there for hours watching himself dance and writing down notes about what he needs to improve before auditioning in the coming weeks. He barely notices when a little girl with dirty blonde pigtails steps into the office. He's too engrossed in the last video. So, he almost jumps out of his seat when she climbs into his lap to reach the tissues on Anna's desk.

“You're a pretty dancer,” the little girl says before blowing her pink nose.

“Thank you,” Castiel replies as he pauses the video.

“I wanna dance like that,” she insists as she points to his paused figure.

“It takes many years. Most dancers never reach...” he trails off as he looks into her big blue eyes. They are so innocent, and she hangs on every word he says. “You like me to show you how?” he asks as he too points to the screen. Her eyes light up even more, and she nods exaggeratedly. Castiel pushes out of his chair and follows her stiffly out of the office. He notes that Anna's class just let out, so he goes into the studio she was teaching in with the little girl.

“Emma, your mommy isn't here yet, dear?” Anna asks as she goes through the stack of CDs next to the sound system.

“No, she said Daddy is picking me up,” Emma says as she scampers to the middle of the room and starts turning in a circle, her arms poised in the air like a ballerina in a music box.

Castiel swallows the years of instruction that tell him to correct her movements and tell her that dance is something to be taken seriously. Instead, he waves at Anna who watches him questioningly and steps next to Emma. He starts in fifth position extends to second before slipping to forth to get ready to spin. He does it on his non-dominant foot due to his ankle, but he still does an impressive pirouette in his socks. When he stops, he immediately rises into an arabesque before returning to first. Both Emma and Anna watch him with rapt attention as he steps behind the small child.

“Passé,” he instructs as he watches Emma in the mirror at the front of the class. The little girl brings her toe to her opposite knee and wobbles for balance. Castiel holds her extended arms to steady her. “Relevé,” he says once she's steady, and Anna rises to the balls of her feet to help Emma understand. Emma rises as well, and Castiel keeps her steady. “Ready?”

She nods again with a bright smile, and Castiel takes his hands off her arms and grabs her waist to spin her in a circle. She twirls in a pirouette, and he catches her waist again as she slows. When she lowers to both feet again she's giggling with excitement. “Can we do it again?” she asks as she looks up at him with a glowing smile.

“Passé,” he says again, and Emma quickly gets into position. This time when she slows in her spin, he gives her another twirl before catching her around the waist and lifting her above his head as she squeals excitedly in the air. She doesn't stop smiling even after he sets her on the ground again.

“Did you see that, Daddy? I'm a ballerina!” Emma cries as she waves at a man standing in the doorway. It takes Cas a second to realize it's Dean standing there in a blue jumpsuit with grease stains all over it. His mind races in sudden confusion.

“Sure did, sweet pea. You'll be putting Castiel to shame in no time,” Dean says as he looks at Emma with pride that Cas has only seen directed at himself once in his life. It was the day he landed his first role as premier danseur with the company, and his mother had told him that he made her so proud. Dean shows that pride even when his daughter messes around.

“Who's Ca-cas-tell?” Emma asks as she tilts her head. Dean just laughs at her pronunciation before holding his arms out wide for her to jump into them. She leaps and he brings her up and spins with her in his arms before approaching Castiel.

“Emma, meet Castiel, your dance partner,” Dean says as he stands beside the dancer.

“Oh,” the word is wide on her lips and lingers as she looks at Cas with awe. When Dean gives her a bounce in his arms, she speaks. “It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Castiel,” she says with a shy smile.

“It is very nice to meet you, Emma,” Castiel parrots before he takes her hand and bows. Emma giggles again, and Dean smiles at him when he rises.

“Thanks man. You probably made her whole week,” Dean tells him as Anna walks up to them.

“You the reason he hurt his ankle, Winchester?” she asks, and Dean looks sheepish.

“It was my fault, Anna. I push too hard,” Cas replies for Dean, but Anna still looks skeptical.

“If you say so. Didn't realize you were coming to get Emma today.”

“I didn't either, until Lydia called,” Dean sounds tense, but Cas makes no comment, and Anna looks like she's just barely holding her tongue.

“Well, thanks for fixing the heat,” Anna says with a sigh as she shifts from one leg to the other.

“Yeah, no problem. I'll be by one night to fix the barre in the spare studio,” Dean replies as he runs his fingers through his daughter's hair while she rests her head against his shoulder. “I should really be getting back to work now. Thanks again, Cas, and I'm glad to see you walking on that ankle today,” Dean says before carrying Emma out of the room.

“That was very nice of you,” Anna says when Dean's gone, and Cas just replies with a shrug. He goes back to her office and rewatches several of the videos. Then he watches the video where he collapsed, but he watches it for the part where Dean comes on screen and helps him up. He would not have pegged the man as a father of a young girl, but Dean is very much a mystery.

\---

He sees Dean fairly frequently after that. Cas is back in his pointe shoes two days after the fall, and he presses himself to do his routines flawlessly instead of repeatedly. Dean comes in that night to install the second half of the barre that runs along the back wall of the practice room.

“Dude, don't you need your beauty sleep? If I show up any later, I'll be coming in at 5am,” Dean says as he puts his tools down at the door.

“I practice late. No children around,” Cas says, and he sees Dean's eyes follow the line of his body. He's not wearing a shirt tonight, because it's finally warm. Dean gets an eyeful of Castiel's lithe torso, strong arms, and sharp hips. His grey tights do little to hide anything below the belt either, and it takes a lot of restraint on Castiel's part not to go en pointe simply to accentuate his muscular legs.

“Yeah, that's probably for the best,” Dean says as he finally tears his eyes away from Cas' body. “I can wait till you're finished if I'll be a distraction,” he offers.

“I am almost done. You may watch if you like,” Castiel says as he returns to the starting position of his routine.

“Sure, why not,” Dean says as he takes a seat in the lone chair in the room. Castiel points one foot forward and bends his other leg. He then folds his upper body over as though he is reaching for his pointed foot. He stays like that for a count of eight before he begins to dance. It is thrilling to perform for someone who is not schooled in dance. It relieves the pressure of perfect execution, and it allows him to feel the movements more than strictly executing them. He catches Dean's eyes a couple times as he does a jump or a grand pirouette. When he finishes in the same position he began in, Dean claps enthusiastically.

“Dude, I don't know anything about ballet, but that was fuckin' intense,” Dean says as Castiel straightens up and wipes the sweat from his forehead.

“Thank you,” Cas replies with a small dip of his chin. Dean seems almost as proud of Cas as he had been of his daughter a couple days earlier. Castiel doesn't know what to do with that, so he changes the subject. “You fix barre now,” he says as he walks over to his bag and removes a towel to dry himself off.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean says, his voice a bit deflated.

Castiel realizes he must have sounded dismissive with Dean. Normally, he would ignore someone else's bruised ego, but he doesn't want Dean to dislike him. “I apologize. I do not receive praise often that does not come with technical merit...”

“So, you're one of the best dancers in the world, and no one ever stops to tell you how incredibly you dance?” Dean cuts in with an incredulous expression. However, Castiel does not feel like Dean disbelieves him, but instead he is upset for Cas' sake.

“Ballet is about expression through mastery. No dancer is perfect, so there is always room for criticism. Compliments show you the level that the weak points need to be brought to,” Castiel explains as he pulls on a t-shirt.

Dean's mouth just opens and closes several times. “Wow. That has to suck,” is all he manages to say to that. “But really, you're incredible,” he finishes before picking up his toolbox and walking to the back of the room.

It's Castiel's turn to watch as Dean drills the holders for the barre into the wall. He's careful to make sure that they are level before he adds each one, and when he's finished, he lifts the barre from the floor. Castiel hurries over to help hold it while Dean attaches it. They don't speak much, but they work together seamlessly.

\---

Dean starts coming by several nights a week after that. He always makes sure to tell Cas how great he looks on every completion of the dance or exercise that he makes. Castiel slowly but surely gets better at taking Dean's compliments, and Dean doesn't take offense when Castiel tells him that he's wrong, and a specific element was so awful that even a blind man could see it.

As the audition gets closer, Castiel becomes more and more stressed. He snaps at Dean more frequently when Dean gives friendly encouragement, and he goes home feeling terrible because “I apologize” isn't really cutting it anymore. Though Dean seems to take it all in stride, Castiel fears losing his only friend over his snappish behavior.

“Cas, why don't we go out for a drink when you're done? Get your mind off the stress for a bit,” Dean suggests one night as Castiel curses at a slight bobble he made during one pose in his entire performance.

“No time for drink,” Castiel practically growls at Dean as he repeats the element several times then heads back towards the start.

“Woah, Cas. Stop,” Dean says as Cas takes his opening position. When he comes up, Dean is standing directly in front of him looking concerned. “Dude, you aren't doing that whole thing again. You're so tired and frustrated that you're shaking. You're going to make a sloppy mistake, because you're too wound up, and I don't want to watch you beat yourself up again. Now, go sit down and give your body a break. You aren't going to get the part if you cripple yourself,” Dean says as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Castiel wants to protest, but Dean's words are true. His instructors at home would never let him push himself this far, especially en pointe. It's too easy to injure ones self. “I—”

“You don't need to apologize. I just don't want to see you get hurt. You've got to promise me though that when you get this role, you'll come out with me to celebrate,” Dean says with a lopsided smile as they walk side by side.

“I suppose one drink, _if_ I get the role, will not hurt,” Castiel agrees. Dean continues to smile at him, and Castiel basks in the warmth of Dean's confidence.

\---

The audition arrives, and Dean takes the day off just to drive Cas to the ballet company. “Trust me, it's not a problem,” Dean says as Castiel opens the passenger side door of the Impala. Dean had insisted on taking Castiel to the audition, because Dean didn't want Cas to go alone. Cas is touched by how much Dean cares, especially after how contrary Cas has been the last few weeks. When they pull up to the building, Dean offers to go in with him, but Cas graciously declines.

“I need focus. You distract me,” Castiel says with a smile that leaves creases at the corners of his eyes.

“Sorry I'm more appealing than dancing,” Dean replies with a cheeky grin. Castiel rolls his eyes as he pushes the door open.

“Not more appealing, louder,” Castiel says and slips out of the car before Dean can give him a playful punch.

“I'll remember that, Twinkle Toes,” Dean yells as Cas crosses the pavement toward to the imposing tower. Cas ducks his head in embarrassment at Dean's behavior, but no one seems to pay either of them any mind.

The audition is exhausting for Castiel both mentally and physically. After an hour and a half of waiting, Castiel wishes that he had allowed Dean to accompany him, because he simply has too much time to concentrate on his audition. People inside the studio stare at him and whisper as they pass. They really don't have to, Castiel cannot keep up when they speak too fast anyway. It's intimidating though. Castiel has no doubt in his abilities, but this is different than what he is used to.

He gets a text message while he waits, and he checks it to find a picture message of Dean and his daughter. Emma is in her leotard, and it looks like she is the one manning the camera. The message reads: _Good Luck, Mr. Castiel. You're the best ballerina!_

Castiel snorts as he reads it again and looks at the picture of the two of them. Dean's smile is so bright that it distracts Castiel from his worries. Only a few minutes later, they call him in for his audition. Castiel cannot complain about how he dances. He's sure that if he watched a video of it, he would tear it apart, but he tries to remember Dean's smile throughout the performance, and the way Dean often weaves and bobs in his seat along with Cas when he dances for him. He always performs best when Dean is watching even if Dean _is_ a distraction.

“I've got to say, you dance like an angel,” Meg, the woman who had set up the audition, says with a predatory smile when he finishes. “Between you and me, you'll be getting the lead, Clarence,” she says as he packs up to leave.

“Clarence?” Cas asks in confusion as he puts his shoes into his bag.

Meg rolls her eyes and doesn't answer. Instead she says, “You don't understand much American culture do you?”

“No, my friend tells me I am like a baby,” Castiel admits as they walk together to the waiting area, so Meg can grab the next dancer.

“Well, if you want someone to show you a taste of American culture, you should give me a call,” Meg says as she presses a business card into his hand. She smirks at him as she turns to walk away. “I'd hate to see all that flexibility and strength go to waste.” Then she walks into the room and calls the next name. It is a young girl who looks barely out of her teens, and she looks like she might be sick.

“Do not forget to show what you feel now when you dance,” Castiel says to her with a gentle smile as they pass each other. She pauses to look at him a moment before recognizing him, then she blushes and nods before scampering after Meg with an awed expression.

\---

Castiel finds out that he landed the role he auditioned for several days later. He is in the studio working on several jumps while Anna argues with one of the mothers out in the main lobby. He can hear the raised voices over the Tchaikovsky he has playing softly. However, he doesn't notice that Emma slips into his practice room until he lands a jump directly in front of her.

“Did you get your part?” the little girl asks when he gives her a questioning look.

“Yes. I just heard,” Castiel tells her as he kneels in front of her. “Why are you in here?” he asks as he notices she's not wearing her usual dance clothing.

“Mommy is fighting with Miss Anna. She doesn't like Miss Anna, because Daddy and Miss Anna used to kiss, but they don't anymore. Mommy doesn't like Daddy, but he says that's okay, because they both still love me very much,” Emma says confidently, but she looks on the brink of tears.

Castiel recalls when his father left his mother. She had told all of her children that it was for the best, and they were stronger without him. She had scolded him when he'd cried over it. He remembered her asking him if her love wasn't enough for him and making him feel greedy for wanting his father's love as well.

Castiel doesn't even realize he's doing it until he has Emma wrapped in a secure hug. She sniffles into his t-shirt while he gently rubs her back. Soon her little shoulders start to shake, and Castiel doesn't really know what to do. So, he ends up holding her in his arms as he slowly dances around the room. The sway of his movements lulls her. The yelling has stopped outside, and he considers bringing her out there, but he's afraid of it starting back up again.

She's fast asleep in his arms when Anna comes into the room looking worn out. “How is she?” Anna asks as Castiel comes to a halt in front of her.

“Sad,” Castiel answers succinctly, and Anna nods as she pushes Emma's hair back from her face.

“Dean and Lydia don't have a great relationship, and it isn't easy on her. Dean should be here soon. Would you mind watching her until he gets here? I have a date tonight, and they act as though I'm their liaison, so they don't have to see each other, but I have a life,” Anna says, and it's clear that she is frustrated.

“I can watch her,” Castiel promises as he adjusts her light body in his arms. Anna thanks him before taking off, and leaving him and a sleeping Emma. Castiel goes and finds a couple of the blankets that Anna keeps in her office, and he makes a nest of sorts for Emma. He lies her on them then lays his sweatshirt over her sleeping form before returning to his practice.

Dean comes in about an hour later looking completely beat. His eyes immediately find his daughter still sleeping in the corner next to the heater. He breathes out a sigh of relief before running a hand down his face. “Anna said you were watching her. I'm really sorry about this. It's not my weekend with Emma, and Lydia knows I work until seven when I don't have custody, but she still expects me to drop everything every time she has a date. Sorry you got dragged into it,” Dean apologizes as he sits heavily in his usual seat.

Castiel doesn't stop dancing. They've gotten to the point where they'll converse as he dances without much difficulty. “Emma is no trouble,” Castiel assures him. Dean gets quiet after that, and Castiel notices that he doesn't take his eyes off his daughter until she slowly stirs. As soon as she sees that Dean is there, she jumps out of her nest and launches herself into his lap.

“Daddy, did Castiel tell you that he got the part?” she cries as she bounces in his lap. Dean's eyes snap up to Castiel at her declaration.

“No he didn't,” he says as he raises an eyebrow at Castiel who shrugs.

“More important things happened,” Cas says by way of explanation, but Dean has none of it.

“You got the part you moved halfway around the world for. Hell yeah, that's important. After I drop Emma at her mother's tonight, we're getting that drink,” Dean tells him.

“Daddy, language!” Emma scolds him, and Dean looks sheepishly at his daughter who still sits in his lap.

“Sorry, baby girl,” he says before pressing a kiss to her forehead. He fishes out his wallet and presses a dollar into her hand. “For the swear jar,” he mumbles, but Castiel has no idea what that means.

It's nearly eleven before they get into the Impala to bring Emma home. She fell asleep in Dean's arms around nine, and he carries her with ease to the car before buckling her in. Dean tells him to wait in the car while he runs Emma up to her mother's apartment, so Castiel goes through Dean's music while he waits. He doesn't know what to think of the man. He values his friendship with Dean greatly, but he also feels attraction for the man. Dean is, after all, very good looking, and he is selfless when it comes to those he cares about. However, all signs point to Dean being a unrepentant ladies man. He has a daughter with one woman, and according to said daughter, he had a relationship with her dance teacher as well. Not that two women make a Lothario, but they are two of the only women Cas knows here.

“Sorry about that, man. I adore Emma and every minute I get to spend with her, but when Lydia uses my friends as a babysitting service, it makes everything pretty shitty. I don't want to take it out on Emma, because she doesn't deserve any of this, but I don't know, it kinda kills my mood as soon as I drop her off. Sorry, this isn't your problem. Let's go grab that drink and celebrate,” Dean says as he gets into the car and puts it back into gear.

“You don't need to carry the burden by yourself, Dean,” Castiel tries to reassure him.

“Your English is getting better every day, man,” Dean says instead of acknowledging Cas' words.

“I have no choice. You talk much. It is hard not to pick it up when you are around,” Castiel says with a fond smile on his lips. Dean laughs and punches him lightly in the shoulder as he takes them to a local bar.

It's a bit of a dive, and it reminds Cas more of home than any of the dancing he's done since he's come here. Dean seems right at home in his torn jeans and over-sized leather jacket. Castiel smiles at how Dean greets a few of the regulars and doesn't hesitate to pull Castiel to his side and introduce him to his friends. “Cas, this Rufus. He's a an old friend of my uncle's,” Dean says as they take a seat down the bar from the older man.

“Nice to meet you,” Castiel says as he takes the seat beside Dean. Rufus gives him a gruff nod and raises his drink to them.

“What do you drink?” Dean asks as he waves to the bartender who stands at the end of the bar talking to another patron.

“Any,” Castiel replies, and Dean orders two shots of cheap whiskey and two tap beers.

“Congratulations,” Dean says as he holds up his shot. Castiel nods with a small smile and raises his shot glass to Dean's. After they take the shots, they settle in at the bar and sip their drinks quietly. Dean breaks the silence about a quarter of the way through his pint. “So, you won't be practicing at Anna's as much now,” Dean says with a small sigh.

“No, I will spend much time with the company,” Castiel confirms as he sips his drink.

“Then we'll just have to make the most of this if we won't be seeing as much of each other,” Dean says with a broad grin. Castiel raises an eyebrow at him, and Dean laughs while flagging the bartender down. “Your choice,” Dean says with a nudge to Cas' shoulder.

“Russian Standard,” Castiel says as he taps his empty shot glass on the bar. They do the shot together before Dean launches into a history of how he found this bar when he just moved to the city from Kansas.

“I moved to Chicago, so I could be here while Emma grew up. Lydia's always kind of resented that I want to be part of Emma's life. She hadn't even planned on telling me I had a daughter, but as soon as I found out, I knew I wanted to be in her life. So, I come to this place when Lydia makes me feel like shit,” Dean explains as he runs his finger over the rim of the shot glass in front of him.

“That cannot be easy,” Castiel says as he watches Dean open up for the first time since they've met.

“Eh, I can't really blame Lydia for her opinion of me. I mean I went through partners like drinks back when I met her. I wasn't exactly what you'd call dependable, but I'm trying to be someone Emma can depend on, you know?” Dean asks as he tips back the rest of his beer.

Castiel doesn't tell him that no he doesn't, because his own father didn't make that effort. “It is good you are there for her. Emma appreciates it,” he says instead. Dean just nods, a vaguely lost expression playing over his features. Castiel takes a steadying breath, then finishes his beer before turning to Dean. “You know I grew up a dancer. I lived at school. Dance is the family tradition. But at home...my father left. I was eight. I never heard from him again. It was not easy,” Castiel tries to explain, and Dean must understand what he isn't saying, because he slips his hand under the bar and squeezes Castiel's thigh gently. It's nothing overt, but it puts Castiel at ease nonetheless.

“I'm sorry your dad skipped out, man. A kid doesn't deserve that,” Dean says with a keen understanding in his eyes, but he waves for another round of drinks instead of elaborating. “This is getting too depressing. We need to cheer up,” he suggests when the bartender puts two more pints in front of them. “What's the craziest thing you've done, Cas?” Dean asks as he holds his drink up to tap Cas' glass.

“I always wanted to fly. After father left, same year, I jumped off the apartment balcony. Fifth floor. I landed in the garbage by luck, or I would be dead,” Castiel says without hesitation. He still remembers how it felt to fall. He was too young to understand what waited for him when he stopped falling, so for just a moment he felt weightless and free, like the pain surrounding him wasn't weighing him down. The pain that followed as he laid in the garbage unable to move until his brother found him had taught him that freedom came at a steep price.

“Wow, you went pretty hard for an eight year old,” Dean laughs, but there is shock behind his words.

“Yes, but I find dance gives me wings, so no more jumping from windows,” Castiel says with a soft smile.

“That's awesome that you have something you love that much,” Dean says wistfully. He knocks his shoulder with Cas' and smiles at him. Castiel wants to lean into it, but they're in public, and he doubts Dean means anything by it. “You should show me some of your moves. I've always been afraid of flying,” Dean admits as he takes to running his finger along the rim of his glass again.

“I will buy you a tutu to match Emma's,” Castiel says, and Dean punches him in the arm.

“Ass,” Dean mutters. They continue drinking until last call. It becomes clear after several more rounds that no matter how practiced Dean is at abusing his liver, Castiel will drink him right under the table. Dean becomes more open and affectionate with every round, and Castiel shares more and more of himself as well.

By the time they stumble out, Castiel is holding Dean up in much the same fashion as Dean had helped him the first night they met. “We cannot drive,” Castiel notes as they approach the Impala.

“Not leaving Baby, man,” Dean slurs as he leans against the black classic, groping for his keys.

“Dean, I not let you drive,” Cas says seriously even though he's vaguely aware it didn't come out right, but Dean waves him off as he goes to the trunk and opens it.

“Grab a couple blankets,” Dean says as he pulls a pair of pillows out of the trunk.

“You live in the car?” Castiel asks in shock. He may be drunk, but this seems very important.

“Nah, I used to when I first came here, and a few times before that. Old habits die hard, I guess. Never know when I'll have to make a quick exit or end up back here,” Dean says, sounding much more sober himself. Castiel accepts the bedding from him. “Front, back, or cuddling?” Dean asks as he fumbles to unlock the passenger side doors. Cas just shrugs, and Dean points him to the back. “You can take the back. Give you more room. If you're cold, I'll climb back there with you,” Dean says as he slides into the front and beds down.

Castiel mimics him, but it's barely thirty-five degrees out, and two thick blankets aren't cutting it. He doesn't want to ask Dean to lie with him, because he doesn't want Dean to be uncomfortable in the morning when he's sober, but Dean seems to read his mind. “Fuck it's cold. Move over, I'm big spoon,” he says as he rolls over the seat and practically into Cas' lap.

They fumble around trying to fit the two of them on the narrow back seat. Cas apologizes when he elbows Dean in the ribs as he turns to face away from him, but Dean brushes it off and pulls Cas tight against his body. “This was definitely easier when I was sixteen,” Dean laughs, pulling the blankets up around him.

“You lived in your car when you were sixteen?” Cas asks, scandalized at the thought of Dean all alone in a dangerous world so young.

Dean laughs for a good minute at Cas' question, and the sound of it lulls Cas' worries. “God no! I used to steal the car and take girls out to the make out spot, then you know we came back here,” Dean says against his neck. Cas is warming up already, and he isn't really sure if it's the alcohol, the extra blankets, or Dean. It's probably all three, but Dean's breath on the back of his neck is making him heat from the inside out.

“Make out spot?” Cas asks, because the term is not something he is familiar with.

“Yeah, you know. You drive out to a quiet spot on the edge of town and you make out. Kiss,” Dean clarifies when Cas shakes his head that he doesn't know. The movement makes his head spin. “You didn't do that kind of stuff back home?” Dean asks, though his words are heavily slurred.

“I live at academy. Strict curfew,” Cas says sleepily.

“Dude, you missed out. Lost my virginity in this back seat,” Dean lets slip. Cas wiggles a little to get closer to Dean's heat, but Dean must take it as him begin uncomfortable. “Yeah, sorry. That was probably an over share,” Dean says apologetically.

Cas shrugs. “I lost mine to a dancer I loved since I was a boy. She was older, one of the ballerinas to teach me pointe. It was right after I was cast in my first lead. I was so in love. I thought we would marry, but I ask her to dinner after, and she tells me my brother asked her to make me a man. I was...” Cas searches for the word in his sleepy, drunken mind.

“Embarrassed,” Dean supplies, giving him a small squeeze.

It feels so strangely intimate to Cas, perhaps too intimate, but he continues anyway. “Yes, em-barr-assed,” he sounds it out over a yawn. “I still love her, but I never speak to her again.”

“Your brother's a dick, Cas,” Dean mumbles.

“It was his way of telling me he was proud,” Cas says.

“That's a fucked up way of showing it,” Dean argues, sitting up enough to look at Cas' face in the dim light of the parking lot.

Cas shrugs. “At least, I cared for her, and she, in her way, cared for me. It was not cruel. I just dream too big,” Cas explains softly as he pulls Dean back down. “I do not regret it. She was a tender lover,” Cas yawns again, and Dean does as well.

“You deserve better than that,” Dean says fiercely for someone half asleep, and wholly drunk.

“Like back seat of stolen car?” Cas jokes.

“Better than that too,” Dean insists, but he doesn't elaborate further. Before Cas can ask, he hears light snoring from behind him.

Cas falls asleep facing the black leather seat with Dean curled around his body, keeping him warm. It's a completely new experience to be wasted and sleeping in a car in the middle of winter, but somehow Dean's presence makes it a pleasant one.

\---

Waking up the next morning is not pleasant. The sun beats strongly into the Impala, and when Dean rolls off the seat into the foot well, it shines right into Castiel's eyes. Both men curse as they are brought to consciousness. Castiel's hangover is not the worst he's ever had, but he could do without the headache pressing right behind his eyes.

“Well, congratulations, Cas. I haven't woken up this hungover in years,” Dean groans as he continues to sit below the seat. Castiel is still wrapped in most of the blankets, so he tries to pull them over his head and return to sleep, but Dean tugs at them so he can see Cas' face. “Dude, I need a greasy breakfast if I'm going to make it to work today. You going to keep sleeping back here or get in the passenger seat? Cas just grunts at him and burrows further into the pile of blankets and pillows. Dean doesn't bug him again as he jumps into the driver's seat and drives them elsewhere.

Cas wakes again to the smell of bacon and eggs. He rolls to look into the front seat, and Dean sits with a takeout container full of breakfast food. “Didn't know what you might like, so I went classic. Hope you're not a pancakes and fruit salad kind of guy,” Dean says with a grin as he hands over the box and a fork.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel mumbles as he takes the offered food and sits up to eat it.

“No problem. Man, you're a tank. I don't remember much after midnight other than bedding down in here, but I remember you barely being phased,” Dean says, completely impressed with Cas. Castiel shrugs as he loads as much egg onto his fork as he can. Dean tries to snitch a piece of bacon while he's occupied, but Castiel pulls the box out of his reach. Dean's face is worth it, but Cas offers him a piece once he swallows his eggs.

“You are not upset that you woke up with me?” Castiel asks as he breaks a piece of bacon in half.

“Why would I be upset? That was the most pleasant sleeping in my car experience I've ever had. I once slept in Baby on a three degree night. I think I was wearing every article of clothing I owned, and had all those blankets on, and I still was shaking by the time the first coffee shop opened,” Dean says as he runs his hands through his messy hair. “I don't miss being homeless. Nicest thing I own in my apartment is my bed.”

“How long were you homeless?” Castiel can't help but ask as he offers Dean another strip of bacon, almost as a bribe.

“On and off for years. I was sort of a drifter for a while. Odd jobs here and there, but I never settled down for long,” Dean replies with a shrug. “Like I think I said last night, I finally settled here for Emma, but it's been good to have a home of sorts.”

“I agree. I love Russia. I love my family and dance, but here for the first time, I feel...settled,” Castiel admits as he finishes off his food with a contented sigh.

“Benny makes the best breakfast,” Dean says with a grin. “He'd come out with us, but he's been sober going on two years now, and Pam would kill him if she found him there.”

“I would like to meet your friend in the future,” Castiel says as he shucks the blankets and climbs into the front with Dean.

“You want to go to your place or the studio? I've got to work in an hour, or I'd say come back to mine and hang out,” Dean explains as he starts the car again.

“Apartment is fine. I need to shower.”

Dean laughs and agrees that he could use one himself before making his way to Castiel's apartment building. He leaves Cas at the curb, and he insists that Cas call him when he has free time since he won't be at Anna's studio as much anymore. Castiel agrees and waves as Dean pulls away.

\---

In the coming weeks, Cas spends a great deal of his time with the company. He works with the directors and choreographer as well as the other dancers. He finds that while the directors of the company seem thrilled to have him on board and have already begun cashing in on having such an international star come to dance for them, the dancers themselves are far less excited.

At first, Castiel believes that it is just the language barrier that he is slowly trying to overcome. However, when he catches Ruby, the company's star ballerina, gossiping about him with Lilith, he decides that perhaps they just don't like him. It hits him hard that the other dancers are not welcoming. At home it had been very cutthroat, but dancers who proved themselves were respected and accepted, so long as they did nothing to lose that respect.

Here, he feels like prey for all the other dancers to tear apart like hyenas. When he is the only one to do a pass correctly, the rest of the dancers roll their eyes as they reset. More than once he hears them refer to him as 'The Robot.'

Then little things start to happen. His tights will go missing one day or his point shoes. He has to go through an entire practice breaking in his spare shoes one day, because they can't afford to miss a session because he is “forgetful.” It's awful, and he spends nearly an hour icing his feet when he staggers home that night. The next day, Meg finds his shoes hanging in the locker next to his and tells him to keep a closer eye on his belongings.

Another day, he finds that the laundry he is forced to do at the studio is completely pink, because someone slipped two red leotards inside with it. Cas sighs as he folds his now pink briefs.

After three weeks of practice, Castiel is at his breaking point. They are at the end of a very tiring practice, and Castiel goes to lift Ruby for their last repetition of a segment they are learning that day. She gets squirmy in the air as he tries lift her above his head.

“You're bruising me,” she grunts just before hitting him in the nose with the heel of her bent leg. To his credit, Castiel doesn't drop her as blood starts to flow freely from his nose. He actually puts her down rather gently he thinks, but she rounds on him when she sees the blood on her slipper. “Do you know how much these cost?” she shouts as he clutches his nose and tries not to bleed on either himself or her.

“You flail like a child on lifts,” Cas returns stonily, though it is distorted by the hand covering his face.

“Well if you didn't lift me like I was a sack of potatoes, maybe I wouldn't have to move to be comfortable!”

“Ballet is not comfortable. If you are too fragile to lift, you do not dance,” Castiel growls back as one of the crew brings him a towel for his nose.

“Maybe that's how it is where you come from, but here people are coming to see me, so you either buck up or get out,” Ruby gets into his personal space, but Castiel does not show any acknowledgment of it.

“Then the audience will be disappointed as you are as graceful as a sack of potatoes,” Castiel says calmly before stepping around her toward the director and choreographer. “I am done for the day. Do not expect me tomorrow,” he says as though he runs the place. Neither argue with him as he grabs his bag and walks out, not even putting on his coat or pants.

He calls Dean as he hurries down the stairs. He's too wound up to take the elevator. He doesn't know what he wants from Dean, but he has no one else to call.

“Hey, Cas, long time no speak,” Dean's voice filters through the speaker, and Castiel takes a deep breath.

“I hate the company,” Castiel says sharply instead of greeting his friend.

“Woah, what happened? You okay, Cas?” Dean asks over the line, and Cas knows he has Dean's full attention even though it's his weekend with Emma, and she deserves every moment of his time.

“I think I broke nose,” Cas says as he walks. Blood still runs from his nose down his front, but Cas doesn't care anymore. He just needs to put space between himself and the studio.

“Oh shit, whose nose, Cas?” Dean sounds very worried, and Cas can't help the warm feeling he gets in his chest when Dean worries about him.

“My nose. Ruby kicked me,” Cas explains stiltedly as he pushes out the front of the building and stands in the crisp Chicago air in little more than tights.

“Fuck, okay, I'll come get you, or are they taking care of it?” Dean asks, and Cas can hear things clanging in the background. “Emma, sweetheart, let me help you with those,” he hears as Dean must put his hand over the receiver to muffle it.

“No, I left. Do not worry, I am fine,” Cas tries to reassure Dean, because he doesn't want to trouble him.

“Shut up, Cas. We're coming to get you. You aren't riding the 'L' covered in your own blood,” Dean's tone leaves little room for argument, and Cas huffs tiredly.

“Very well. I will wait outside,” Cas says, but before he can hang up Emma's voice echos over the line.

“Mr. Cas! Daddy said we're coming to get you, so you can play with us this afternoon. What kind of tea do you like? I'll make sure we have some for our tea party,” Emma says excitedly. Cas isn't entirely sure why she needs to know this right now, but it is actually nice to have someone to speak to while he waits. He thinks Dean might have thought of that and told Emma to talk to him, and that thought only warms Cas more.

\---

“Dude, are you actually in _Rocky: the Ballet_?” Dean says when he pulls the Impala up to the curb. Emma is seated in the back staring at him through the window with saucers for eyes. Cas feels self-conscious about letting Dean's daughter see him barely clothed and covered in blood.

“It was not violent. I was kicked on a lift. Accident,” Cas tries to reassure Emma as soon as he slides into the passenger seat, but Dean just snorts.

“Dude, she's had a bloody nose before. I don't think it'll scar her for life. You naked save for some flimsy tights might though,” Dean says as he tosses his leather jacket to Cas.

Cas turns as red as the blood all over his front as he pulls Dean's jacket tightly around him. “My apologies. I was not thinking,” Cas says as he makes sure he is as covered as the jacket will allow. Dean smirks at him and shakes his head as he pulls away from the curb.

“Let's get you back to my place and see about your nose. I'd hate for some clumsy dancer to ruin your pretty face,” Dean says as he reaches over and squeezes Cas' thigh reassuringly.

“Then we can have tea,” Emma insists from where she's seated watching them closely.

“Then we can have tea,” Dean agrees and sends Cas another smile as he negotiates city traffic. Dean presses a bandana into Cas' hand after a minute of driving and motions to Cas' face.

“Oh, no. I don't want to make it bloody,” Castiel replies as he looks down at the square of fabric.

“I work in a garage, man. Blood isn't the worst thing I've gotten on that. It's called laundry,” Dean brushes away his concerns with a smile, and Cas can't help but smile back fondly.

Dean doesn't take them home right away. He drives into the part of town where they'd gone drinking weeks earlier. Cas is relieved when they don't pull into the bar because as much as he'd love a drink right now, he doubts that they should do so with Emma in tow. Instead, Dean pulls into the parking lot of a diner not three blocks away.

“Emma, honey, why don't you run in and tell Uncle Benny how much you love him and how you got an A on your spelling test?” Dean addresses his daughter when they park right in front of the diner's entrance. It's an off hour, and there are only two other cars in the small lot.

Emma actually rolls her eyes, and Cas is a little shocked when she speaks to her father. “You just want my piece of reward pie, daddy,” Emma says, unlocking her seatbelt with a huff.

“I would never...” Dean looks over at Cas with wide, innocent eyes. Cas holds back a snort.

“You steal it every time, daddy. It's my pie, and you steal it!”

Dean rolls his eyes this time. “Fine, I'll go in with you and get us all some pie,” Dean says with his hands raised in surrender. “I'll just be a minute, Cas.”

Cas watches them walk into the diner and approach the counter. A big man with a neat beard leans over the counter to speak to them, and Cas assumes that he is Benny. Cas sighs as he sees the man come around the counter and lift Emma into his arms. Dean doubles over laughing at something, and Cas feels more like an outsider than he does at the company every day.

He holds Dean's bandana to his nose, which has finally slowed its bleeding. It hurts, and a quick check in the side mirror confirms that it's swollen and discolored. Cas sighs again and rests his head against the back of the seat. He should've stayed in Russia. He had a family there even if it was a cold, harsh family that expected him to fall in line and give everything to their desires over his own. They were still his family.

Dean and Emma are lovely, and Anna is sweet, but he doesn't fit in with them. He's only just starting to be able to make any sort of connection.

Cas doesn't realize that he's gripping the bandana tightly in his fist, lost in thought, until a gentle hand rests on his shoulder.

“Hey, take a breath man,” Dean says as he tips Cas' head in his direction to inspect the damage. “It's pretty swollen, but it doesn't look out of place. We'll ice it when we get home and make sure,” Dean says softly before letting go of him and starting the car again. “Benny gave us a whole pie when I told him you got beat up by a ballerina that probably weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet,” Dean says with the smile he reserves for teasing Cas when he misunderstands references. It's a good smile, and it pulls Cas out of his depressed thoughts as he returns it.

Dean's apartment is very ordered, and it surprises Cas, because Dean doesn't seem the sort that cares if everything has a place. Dean rolls his eyes when he says as much, but it's Emma who answers.

“Everything has to be in ship-shape, daddy says,” she states, smiling wide as she runs over to the kitchen table which has a tea set spread out on it. She puts the pie box on the table, where she can reach and starts to fuss with the cups while Dean carries Cas' bag to the bedroom, so it's out of the way.

“Come on, I'll fix up your nose in here,” Dean gestures for him to follow, and Cas does so obediently. Dean's room is just as neat as the living room. There are a few personal possessions on the book shelf and only a pair of pictures on his night stand. Dean has several weapons on display, and Cas is a little put off until he remembers that drifting can't be a very safe lifestyle. All knives and other weapons are on the top shelf of the bookcase, far above where Emma could reach even if she pulled up a chair.

The only thing out of place is an ironing board next to Dean's bed. Cas can see what looks like a leotard on it, and he can't help but wander closer. It is a leotard, and it has a cartoon t-rex ironed to the front of it. “It is crooked,” Cas can't help but point out, because it is very noticeably lopsided, though no less adorable.

“Yeah, I might have been in the middle of a delicate procedure when you called. Just don't tell Emma that's it's fucked up. She won't care so long as no one says anything,” Dean says as he disappears into the bathroom on the other side of the room.

“You alter her leotards often?” Cas asks as he continues to look at the small outfit laid out on the board. He feels his heart constrict at the image of Dean and Emma ironing it on together.

“Hell yeah!” Dean calls from the other room. “One of the other girls came in one day with some crazy pony onesie or something—”

“Leotard,” Cas corrects as he walks to the bathroom to see Dean going through the medicine cabinet.

“Yeah, that's what I said,” Dean continues, and Cas rolls his eyes. “Anyway, Emma got all upset because all the other girls have pretty _leotards_ and she didn't. So, I took her to the place she said all the girls get theirs, and shit those things are expensive. So, when she finished crying, I told her we'd make her one. I mean, if my daughter wants to dance, she's gonna look badass doing it, right?” Dean finishes with a shrug. Cas doesn't try to fight the smile Dean's story brings to his lips.

“I am surprised you do not mind the crooked dinosaur when your house is so orderly,” Cas says thoughtfully as he watches Dean set out gauze and other medical supplies in neat rows on the sink.

“Dad was ex-military,” he says by way of explanation without looking up. Dean motions to the closed toilet lid for Cas to take a seat. “Growing up everything was structured within an inch of its life. Hospital corners on the beds, wake up before the sun, daily chores and chore inspections, you name it. He had no idea how to be a dad after my mom died, so he reverted to what he did know and raised himself two soldiers instead,” Dean says as he picks up the first piece of gauze and runs it under the tap to dampen it.

His words are resigned as though they stopped holding any meaning a long time ago. As though, he's accepted that that's just the way things were, and can't bring himself to mourn his upbringing.

“I guess, all of it just stuck with me even after I left. I try not to be that way with Emma. I don't force her to make the bed, and if she does I won't correct her technique. I remember the first time I got private visitation time with her, and I bought a bunch of toys for her to play with. She was barely a year old, and she grabbed them all and spread them all over. I almost had a heart attack at what a mess she made, half expecting my dad to walk through the door and start yelling. Then I remembered he wasn't here, and I don't know, looking at the mess she made and the huge smile she had when she found a stuffed animal she liked, I've never felt so proud,” Dean rambles as he cleans the blood from Cas' face with a damp washcloth.

Dean's technique is surprisingly gentle, especially considering the lifestyle he just revealed. Cas half expected him to roughly clean him and slap a butterfly bandage on it and call it a day. Instead, Dean cleans him up thoroughly before carefully prodding his nose to make sure it isn't actually broken. Then he tapes it up just as a precautionary measure and goes to get him a bag of ice.

When Dean returns, he doesn't have ice but a towel and a change of clothes. “I realized you probably aren't comfortable like that. So, if you want to grab a shower, you can before you ice that. Might make you feel better,” Dean says as he puts the supplies down and backs out of the room again. “We'll be making 'tea' when you're finished.”

Cas does take a shower, and he does feel better afterward. It relieves a bit of the residual tension from the incident, and clears his head. He dresses in the clothes Dean left for him. The sweat pants and t-shirt fit him well. They're a little big, but he assumes that's how most people wear these sorts of garments.

When he emerges from the bedroom, he finds Emma sitting in one of the kitchen chairs with her legs swinging excitedly back and forth, because she can't reach the floor yet. “Mr. Cas, you're just in time. Daddy's cutting the pie,” she says happily, and Cas turns to see Dean at the counter cutting into what looks to be an apple pie.

Cas smiles tightly at her and takes the seat to her right. He's never had a tea party before that didn't involve important backers and dignitaries, but he doubts the same rules of decorum apply to a seven year old's tea party. For one thing, there is only one set of utensils at each of the seats, and the china looks decidedly plastic. Cas is way out of his depth.

“Dude, relax. She may think she is, but she's not the Queen. You can slouch a bit,” Dean says as he carries the pie back to the table. He serves everyone a piece before carrying the knife to the sink and throwing it in. He grabs an ice pack out of the fridge and hands it to Cas when he comes back.

“Bad posture is unacceptable for a dancer. It breeds bad habits,” Cas explains as he gingerly places the ice to his nose.

He watches as Dean and Emma share a look then shrug at each other. Cas just sighs and lets his shoulders hunch slightly. Emma grins at him. He supposes a few bad habits will not kill him.

Tea is actually a very pleasant affair. Emma drinks juice, and Dean drinks beer out his tea cup. Cas is the only one that drinks actual tea, but he must admit it's quite good. Emma talks animatedly about how excited she is to start second grade in the fall and how Dean promised to take her on a vacation this summer to celebrate.

Dean sends funny expressions Cas' way while Emma talks. Cas finds himself trying not to laugh while Emma talks to him, afraid to hurt her feelings, but a few smiles slip past. Eventually, Emma tires herself out and starts to rub at her eyes between sips of her juice.

Dean gets up and lifts her out of her chair and into his arms without warning, and she giggles at the sudden movement. “Time for a nap, baby girl. You look dead on your feet,” he says as he rubs her back gently and settles her weight on his hip.

“But Mr. Cas is still here,” she protests, but Dean is having none of it.

“He'll still be here when you get up, Emmy. Come on. I'll sing you a song if you're good,” Dean bargains, and those seem to be the magic words.

“Can you sing _Dust in the Wind_?”

“Of course.”

Dean looks tired himself when he comes out of the room fifteen minutes later. He hadn't shut the door while he was putting her down, and Cas had heard Emma asking about him, and why he was hurt, and if Dean was going to kiss it and make it better like he does with her injuries. Cas feels a little bad for overhearing it all, but Dean doesn't seem to notice or care as he pulls two beers out of the fridge and offers one to Cas.

“Sorry if you heard me singing. My brother says it sounds like nails on a chalkboard, but she can't seem to get enough of it,” Dean says as he sits heavily in his seat.

“It was not so bad. Though the song was a bit morbid for a child,” Cas says thoughtful.

“Hey man, don't knock a classic,” Dean says before he takes a long pull from his beer.

They sit in companionable silence for a while just drinking their respective beers and being content to stay with their own thoughts. Eventually, Dean stands and beckons Cas to follow him to the couch. The sofa isn't huge, and they end up sitting closer than is probably socially acceptable, but Dean doesn't seem to notice, so Cas doesn't try to make room.

“Other than getting your ass kicked, how's work going?” Dean asks, and Dean is the first person who has ever referred to dancing as Castiel's job. Anna always refers to it as the company. His mother, when she deigns to email, calls it his distraction. People he meets don't seem to think of it as work. Dean's the only person who really thinks of it as something worth the respect of calling it work, and the phrasing makes Castiel smile even though his answer is bleak.

“They dislike me. I thought it was just because I was new, but it is that they dislike me personally. They play tricks and talk about me. I am important to the sponsors, because I am a big name, but the dancers are either jealous or unimpressed with me,” he explains, and Dean looks offended on his behalf.

“Have they even seen you dance? You're awesome. How can they not see that?” he asks as he turns to face Cas.

“They see it. It bothers them that I do not falter as they do sometimes. They call me 'The Robot.' They also see that I am an outsider that took a role from one of them, a role that will be very prestigious if the show is a success,” Castiel says as he prods at his nose to see if the swelling has gone down at all.

Dean pulls his fingers away and smooths down the tape he'd started to peel. He doesn't let go of Cas' hand as he speaks again.

“Well fuck them, Cas. You deserve that part. I've seen all the hard work you put in, and if they can't appreciate that, then they can go fuck themselves,” Dean says fiercely. It reminds Cas of when Dean gets protective of Emma.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says with a small smile, but Dean waves him off.

“Just tellin' the truth.”

They lapse back into companionable silence until they finish their drinks. Dean gets up to grab them another slice of pie, even though Castiel tells him that he should not eat another since his diet is regimented for the show. Dean snorts and brings him an extra large slice. “That means you've been eating nothing but bunny food. Better eat the good stuff while you can,” he says as he takes his seat again.

Cas rolls his eyes, but he eats the whole slice anyway. No one's going to know, and Cas hasn't been able to eat a cheeseburger since training started, so he counts this as a reward for sticking to it so far.

By the time Dean drops Cas off at his apartment that night, Cas is no longer furious about practice. He's not pleased with the overall unprofessional nature of Ruby and some of the other dancers, but he's no longer blindingly mad. He'll talk to the director and choreographer tomorrow.

Dean waves at him, and Cas smiles at how Dean doesn't pull away until he's safely inside his building. Dean is definitely nothing like anyone he's met before.

\---

The director, a Mr. Crowley (though no one is quite sure if that is his first or last name) , tells Cas to ignore Ruby. “She's a fickle creature. She probably didn't like the shoes you arrived in,” Crowley says dismissively when Castiel explains that he will not come to practice if he is going to be physically assaulted.

Meg stands behind him rolling her eyes at Crowley's assessment of the lead soloist. “The fact that she rebuffed your advances doesn't make her fickle. It makes her discerning,” Meg deadpans as she looks over the notes on her clipboard then scrolls through her phone.

“Sticks and stones, Meggie. Don't forget that I'm the director, and you're just an assistant, who is deeply indebted to...”

“Oh go fellate someone who cares. Everyone knows Josie runs this company even if you call yourself the _King_ ,” Meg says before walking away, not letting Crowley have the last word. “Cas I'll talk to Ms. Abaddon about your situation and see if we can work something out,” Meg calls over her shoulder.

Cas is a little taken aback, but he quickly falls into step with her. “You will really do this?” he asks as he watches her continue to flip through emails on her phone.

“Look, Clarence, you're new, and you're stepping on _everyone's_ toes. You're an amazing dancer, and you're cute, but that means shit around here. You need to kiss ass and keep your nose clean. They're going to give you shit. They've earned that right, because most of them have been here for years, dying for a part like you got with a couple phone calls and a stacked audition. So, do I think you deserved to get kicked in the nose for being pompous. Yeah, I totally do, but I'm willing to talk to the boss lady, because I also know that you doing a short stint as our attraction will get us funding for _years_ , and in a world where even top ballet companies are struggling, that's huge. So, shut up before I change my mind, and I suggest apologizing to Ruby,” Meg says before slipping into an office and closing the door behind her.

Cas stands outside looking like a fish as his jaw flaps in an attempt to form a rebuttal. He can hear voices beyond the door. Meg's talking about something called _The Real Housewives_ , and another female voice is laughing. Cas' brow knits together as he tries to make sense of it as he turns and walks away. He feels like the longer he stays in America, the less he understands.

Cas gets ready for his first lesson of the day which consists of basically an hour of warm up and stretching. Back home, warm up had been his favorite part of the day. He loved learning choreography and practicing it, but the start of the day was something special. He spent the stretches in his own head, thinking through his parts and where he wished to focus his energy toward improvement. It always left him ready to face anything.

Now though, he practices next to Ruby and behind several of Crowley's lackeys. It's far from relaxing, and most days he leaves the room tense and in a sour mood. Today is no exception.

Dean's waiting outside at six fifteen when Cas finally leaves for the day. Most of the others have a performance that night, but Cas certainly isn't going to stick around to watch it. Dean's wearing his work clothes, but he looks fairly clean, so Cas isn't sure if he's coming from or going to.

“Wanted to make sure you didn't get shanked or something during practice,” Dean says as he falls into step with Cas. He points out his car which is parked around the corner, and Cas follows him to it.

“It was tense, but everyone behaved,” Castiel says tiredly as he rubs at his eyes. He's careful of his bruised nose, but there's still a dull ache when he touches anything near it.

“Well that's better than nothing. Anyway, I remembered that you were muttering about your shower not working right the other day, and I figured that since I've got a free evening, I'd come take a look if you hadn't gotten it fixed yet,” Dean offers as he slides into the driver's seat.

“No, I have not had time, and I used yours yesterday, so I forgot. If you are willing, it would be appreciated,” Cas says a little stiffly, because he hadn't even realized Dean was paying attention when he complained about his tub's drainage issue. Cas is excellent at a great many things, but being handy around the house has never been one of them. Back home, his mother had housekeepers and maintenance people, and at the ballet school, everything was taken care of for the students. He'd never had to fix a clogged toilet until he came here, and three days in his toilet flooded half his bathroom.

“Not a problem man. Don't mess with a man's shower. Good water pressure, and proper drainage are two musts,” Dean says, and Cas smiles at the little things that Dean's passionate about. He's peculiar.

\---

“I never learned how to fix things,” Cas says as he sits on the toilet lid and watches as Dean leans over the lip of the tub and unscrews the drain cover.

“I imagine spinning and leaping around a stage doesn't often call for the ability to jam something down a metal tube in hopes of dislodging a clog,” Dean laughs. He left his coveralls on, but he's rolled up the sleeves while he works.

“No, I suppose not, but I often feel useless. I have no practical skill,” Cas admits, and Dean turns his head to look at Cas with a confused look.

“So, you hire guys like me to do it like everyone else. What's so bad about having the option not to get your hands dirty?” Dean asks, but Cas can tell that he doesn't actually prescribe to that set of beliefs. He clearly takes pride in his ability to work with his hands. He wouldn't help Anna or himself for free, in his spare time, if he didn't love it and think it was important.

“I grew up in a prestigious ballet academy and in my mother's estate in the countryside. I did not grow up around different kinds of people and professions. I grew up around dance and dancers. It made me rather ignorant about the world, but it also gave me an appreciation for people and all of their differences. I suppose I just appreciate that you are able to fix everything that may fall apart around you. Sometimes, I wish I had that same skill,” Cas explains as he watches Dean work.

Dean makes a noise in the back of his throat then waves Cas over. “Well, it's not magic. I think we can teach you how to fix your tub,” Dean says as he leans back to sit on his heels. “So, there are a couple basic ways to deal with a clog. Either dislodge it or dissolve it. I try to start with dislodge, because sometimes it's really easy, so we're gonna use the plunger to see if we can do just that. If we can't, we start pouring the chemicals,” Dean explains as he grabs the plunger next to Cas' toilet, then hands it to Cas. “Have a crack at it.”

Plumbing is not nearly as glamorous as Cas might have hoped. After using the plunger on his tub, Cas is certain he chose the correct profession. It takes them several more tries, but eventually he feels something give, and Dean lets out an excited cry before turning on the water in the tub and dousing them both as they test it. Thankfully, it drains.

\---

Castiel gets told that Abaddon wishes to speak to him a the following week when he gets to the studio. Meg isn't at her desk. Instead, one of the interns has taken her post for the time being. She ushers Cas back to the room that Meg had left him behind at days prior.

The door is open and, once again, Meg and another woman can be heard talking. “I don't see what the problem is. She's been costuming for five decades. I'm sure that she has had more ridiculous requests than this!” the unfamiliar voice says as the intern taps on the door frame.

“Josie, Vera's a busy woman. She can't design all of the company's costumes and keep you in couture for every event you go to,” Meg says, and Cas doesn't really want to interrupt.

The intern knocks again as the conversation shifts slightly. “Who are you taking to this event anyway? You'll need arm candy, I assume?” Meg asks.

“You'll see. Come in,” the cheerful voice calls, and the intern ushers Cas in before leaving and firmly shutting the door. “Castiel Novak. It is an honor to finally make your acquaintance,” the woman says as she holds out her brightly manicured hand. She has beautiful red hair that's pulled back in a sophisticated chignon, but she's wearing at leather jacket over graphic t-shirt, and Cas is confused as to who she is. “I'm Josie Abaddon.”

The name clicks, and Cas' jaw falls open just a little. “The prima ballerina. I watched many of your performances. You were a vision when you danced,” Castiel says as he eagerly takes her hand.

“Still am, sweetheart,” she says wish a predatory smirk. “Meg tells me you haven't received a very warm welcome to our little company. I see your nose is healing up nicely though. Ruby's vicious, but she isn't dumb. Never leaves broken bones,” she says, and that doesn't reassure Cas at all.

“I am an outsider. It is only expected that I am tried,” Cas says diplomatically.

“You don't serve royalty on paper plates, Castiel. It's about respecting your betters. We'll just have to remind them of that,” Josie says as she leans back in her chair looking completely relaxed.

“I will make a bit of an unconventional deal with you, Castiel. I'm not a businesswoman, but I've been running this company for some time, if behind the scenes. I do, however, know that keeping this company on top is all about selling it, and you, Castiel Novak, are a hot commodity. If you are willing to attend events with me to promote the company and do interviews I set up, I will not question it if you do most of your training elsewhere, so long as you learn the choreography with the others. I'll even give you the weekend off while your nose heals up,” Abaddon says as she studies her hot pink nails.

“That seems very generous of you,” Cas notes.

“Sources tell me you never do interviews, and you only ever did the appearances your mother approved of. That doesn't work for me, so I'm willing to make exceptions to get what I need. Now, if we are done here, I have things to do. Try not to get kicked in the face again. I can't have you sporting two black eyes at the fundraiser this week,” Abaddon says with a dismissive flick of her hand. “Meg will tell you about it later when we're finished talking about important business.”

Cas just walks out of the office in mild confusion, hearing them start to discuss the previous night's episode of _Housewives_.

\---

“She wants me to attend a fundraiser with her,” Cas says as he sips at the beer Dean had brought with him to the studio that night.

“So, you attend a fancy dinner with her for one night, you get to practice here instead of the company, and you get time off? That sounds like a good deal,” Dean says with a shrug.

“Or a deal with the Devil. I do not like her smile. It is like a shark, all predator.” Cas takes another sip as Dean stretches his feet and calves, pushing his toes back as far as they'll go.

“She that scary?” Dean laughs.

“Yes,” Cas replies simply then lies down on his back, so Dean can work his hamstrings next. He's been too tense lately from the drama at the company, and his whole body needs extra stretching if he doesn't want to cramp or pull something. Dean's been willing to help on the nights he stops by. His hands are surprisingly steady as he stretches Cas, and he manages to be quite gentle as he manipulates his body.

Cas tries to control his breathing as Dean pretty much lies over him, stretching Cas' right leg as far as it will go—which is very far—so there is little space between them as Dean smiles down at him. “This would look pretty dirty if someone were to walk in,” he says with a cheeky grin, and Cas rolls his eyes at Dean's sense of humor. He's become used to it over the last couple of months, and he appreciates Dean's ability to lighten situations with his corny jokes.

“How about this? You go to this party with this Josie woman, and then you use your time off to come camping with Emma and me. I promise it will be a lot of fun, and it'll be good for you to get away for a bit,” Dean suggests, but Cas looks at him skeptically.

“Camping?”

“Yeah, sleeping in tents in the woods, campfires, cooking over the fire. I assume you've never gone camping before? That's okay because it'll be Emma's first time too. I promise it's awesome,” Dean says, but Cas isn't sure he should intrude on Dean's time with his daughter.

“I would feel uncomfortable intruding...”

“Nah, man. It'll be a huge help actually. If there are two of us, the other one can watch her while one of us goes to the bathroom or builds the fire. I'm not trying to use you as a babysitting service, but I promise you'll be a huge help. If you want to go. I don't want to force you,” Dean assures him.

“I...would like that,” Cas decides as Dean gets up slowly and helps him switch legs.

“Awesome! Emma will be really excited,” Dean smiles as he rests his weight over Cas' body again and balances on one arm so he can ruffle Cas' hair. Cas just rolls his eyes. He hopes he's made the right decision.

\---

Cas wonders why he sent Dean an S.O.S. message when he looks up to see Dean doubled over in his doorway laughing harder than he's ever seen him. Cas glares at him, but Dean doesn't even look up as he continues to laugh. Cas wishes he had something to throw, but alas he is trapped between two very determined women with measuring tape and far too many straight pins.

“Oh god, when I got your message, I thought you'd fallen and hurt yourself or something,” Dean gasps as he wipes tears from his eyes. Cas glares harder.

Cas must tense up, because the shorter of the two women jabs him in the ribs with her elbow and tells him to stop squirming. This only makes Dean laugh harder.

Cas has had fittings before. It's a part of dancing. Costumes need to be fitted perfectly, and that means getting awkwardly handled until the measurements are perfect. He'd been fitted for a costume just last week at the company.

However, Cas has never felt so humiliated as when he opened his door this morning only to be pushed out of the way by Kiera, Addy, and Esteban—three of Josie's seamstress' most trusted associates. That wasn't even the worst part; they'd proceeded to demand he strip down to his underwear with little more than a vague introduction, and they have been shoehorning him into suit after suit ever since.

He'd only just managed to get a message to Dean while he removed his clothing, before Addy took his phone away saying there would be no distractions.

Dean sobers a little as he watches Kiera hold up various swatches of fabric to different parts of Cas' body. “Charcoal for the suit. I'd say a light blend, Josie wants it to hug,” she says as she holds a dark swatch to Castiel's belly. Addy studiously writes it down on a notepad, and Esteban consults the rack of suits they somehow managed to get up to Cas' apartment without a functional elevator. He makes a little victorious sound before hurrying over with a suit fitting those parameters.

Cas closes his eyes and tilts his chin toward the ceiling while Kiera, a dark haired woman with sharp features, helps him into the pants. He can feel them hugging his every muscle, and he can only assume that the bulge they create around his crotch is obscene, because it feels like he's being strangled.

“I don't think that's what she meant by hugging,” Dean says between coughs and laughter. Cas can feel himself turning bright red.

“Sir, I can assure you we know what we are doing. The style is meant to be tight. He is a dancer, and Josie wants that to be showcased,” Esteban says sternly.

“First of all, Cas is in the room, though I'm sure it's against his will, so stop acting like he's a doll you're dressing up. Second, he's not going to show up to your little party if he is embarrassed to be wearing that suit,” Dean argues, and while Cas doesn't need his battles fought for him, Dean definitely articulates what he is feeling very well.

“He has to show up. He's contractually obligated,” Addy says from where she is tugging at the suit coat to lay right over his chest.

“Cas, touch your toes for me,” Dean says. Cas looks at him skeptically, but he dutifully bends to touch his toes. It's such a practiced movement that he doesn't even consider the restrictive pants, and is met with the sound of tearing as he brushes his fingers against his socks.

“That's what I have to say to your contractual obligations,” Dean says smugly. Cas actually laughs as he straightens up. Esteban looks completely scandalized, and Kiera looks like she might burst a blood vessel. Addy looks to be holding back a smile behind tight lips as she quickly scribbles on her pad.

Before anyone can say anything else, Kiera's phone begins to play “Boss Ass Bitch.” All three intruders freeze with varying expressions of dread.

“Yes, Ms. Abaddon?” Kiera answers after taking a deep breath. Cas can't hear a thing even though the room is silent. “Yes, of course,” she says before hanging up.

Cas watches her take another breath then look at Esteban. “Dark brown suit with deep blue shirt. Two buttons open, no tie. Three pieces, she's adamant about the vest. Slim fit, but not too tight that he won't be able to dance with her,” she lists each of the demands as Addy dutifully writes it all down.

Cas looks to Dean whose eyebrow is raised. “Deal with the Devil?” he mouths at Cas, and Cas can't help but nod. Before he can really think about Josie's list of demands for his suit, he's being manhandled into a dark brown suit with a dark blue shirt beneath it. Kiera fusses with his collar and pins it open even to show some skin while looking completely unintentional.

After the flurry of dressing him, they step back and study him like he's an art exhibit. Cas looks over at Dean, who is watching him with a strange look in his eye. He breathes out and looks up at Cas. “You look good, man,” he says with a small smile.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says solemnly.

After they have him dressed, they measure and pin things until they are satisfied, but Dean keeps up a steady commentary about what Emma's been up to that calms Cas down while they work.

Dean wanders over to the kitchen while he undresses and gets back into his jeans and t-shirt. When the three finally leave, Dean has two glasses of vodka sitting on the counter. “You look like you could use one,” Dean explains as Cas joins him.

“Yes, I suppose I could,” Cas replies then motions for Dean to follow him. He walks back into the living room, but he doesn't take a seat on his ratty old couch. Instead, he walks over to his window and opens it up. He'd discovered the old fire escape one night when he couldn't sleep. Dreams of home and his family often plagued his sleep, and he'd just needed fresh air. The fire escape had become his place to breathe.

“Dude, I'm sorry I laughed, but I hope you aren't planning to give me flying lessons out here, because I told you I don't fly, and it doesn't sound like you're very good yourself,” Dean says as he cautiously follows Cas out onto the metal fire escape.

Cas snorts, having forgotten he told Dean of that mistake while he was drunk. Cas looks at Dean over his shoulder and really studies him.

“What?” Dean asks as he settles on the iron grid that makes up the landing outside Cas' window.

“You never told me the craziest thing you ever did,” Cas says taking a seat beside him and knocking their glasses together softly.

“You didn't ask,” Dean says, but the he falls quiet, thinking.

Cas doesn't push. He's completely content just to sip his drink and enjoy the spring air. He honestly doesn't expect Dean to answer as the silence stretches.

“I've done a lot of crazy shit, Cas. Leaving home and drifting was pretty crazy. I mean I've hustled pool and cards. I've done some pretty shifty odd jobs to make enough money to buy a tank of gas. I've had to break Baby out of impound more than once. But, as cliché as this is gonna sound. I don't think anything has scared the shit out of me like raising Emma. I've fucked up my own life pretty royally when given the chance, but I'm terrified of fuckin' up hers. I'm also terrified of being like my father. Hell, I've fucked up my life just to get away from him, and God would it suck if I ended up turning out just like him anyway,” Dean says before draining his glass.

“That is why you stayed?”

“I stayed because I loved her as soon as I knew she existed, but yeah giving her a better childhood than I had was definitely on my mind. God, I hate you sometimes,” Dean groans, leaning his head back against the wall.

“I'm sorry,” Cas says in confusion, but Dean waves him off.

“Nah, it's just I always end up telling you this shit I never talk about, never let myself think about,” Dean explains.

“I am sorry I bring up hard memories—”

“It's not your fault, man. I wouldn't tell you if I didn't want to. I just- it's just stuff I'm not really proud of. You've got all these stories about being successful and famous back home, and I turn around and tell you about how I lived out of my car for several years—”

“There is no shame in struggle, Dean. Young dancers can be very self conscious of their feet, but no one becomes prima ballerina without some blood and scars. You are a good man, Dean, and a good father. You are not without the scars that got you here,” Cas says, and he can feel Dean's eyes looking at his own scarred feet.

“Do they hurt?” Dean asks after a moment.

“They are not without their pains.”

“Why do I feel like that means they hurt enough to cripple the ordinary person, but you aren't even fazed?” Dean looks him in the eye.

“Everyone experiences pain differently, Dean. Sadly, you cannot bear another's for them, just learn to carry your own,” Cas replies as he tucks his feet close to him, out of sight. Dean doesn't say anything else, just sits there watching him.

\---

The suit arrives the following morning, and Cas is barely out of bed when Meg is banging on his door. “Clarence, open up. We've got a lot of primping to do, so hurry that tight little ass of yours up,” Meg calls through the door.

Cas groans as he clutches his bowl of oatmeal tightly and shuffles toward the door. Once again, he's pushed out of the way so a parade of people can pour into his apartment.

“You've met Kiera and Addy, I believe. That's Tom. He'll do your hair. That's Anne. She'll be on make up. This is Sue. She will be coaching you on what's expected of you and who you'll be expected to know. Okay, put that awful looking concoction down. No time for snacks. Let's get a move on,” Meg says as she wrestles the bowl out of his hands and gives him a small push toward Kiera who holds several garment bags.

Cas doesn't even have time to call Dean, because Meg snatches his phone before he can even turn it on. “Oh no. No time for sexting. Your boy or girl toy can wait till later. You're all mine right now,” Meg says, tucking the phone into her back pocket with a challenging raise of her eyebrow.

Cas sighs as he's ushered into his own living room and pressed into a chair he knows doesn't belong to him. His head is being forced forward before he knows what's happening, and pieces of his hair start to fall around him.

A picture of a gray haired man with a stern face is thrust under his nose. “This is our biggest sponsor...” Sue begins.

By the time the cloud around him settles, and people are packing up their things, Castiel feels like he might fall over, his head is spinning so much. He's dressed in a slim fit, brown suit that hugs his frame just right. The color of the blue shirt beneath it compliments his eyes. His hair is trimmed and neatly styled, and his face has a healthy glow thanks to Anne.

It's not the first time he's been so impeccably dressed. It's probably not even the fiftieth. He attended dinners with his family often when he was in Russian. Still, it's odd to see himself dressed as such as he stands in the middle of his cramped living room. Dirty dishes from three days ago are still resting on his makeshift coffee table.

It's just a strange juxtaposition, and Cas feels for the first time that life here is changing him. It's not just changing his dancing, but it's changing his whole person, and it suddenly terrifies him that he needs to go play his part tonight when he doesn't know what it is anymore.

“Castiel, breathe. It's just a suit. I mean, yeah, it's doing things to me too, but don't get flighty on me now,” Meg says as she stands in front of him holding the mirror.

“I am sorry,” Cas says sincerely, looking away from his reflection.

“Thank God, you're so cute, Clarence because those sharks tonight are going to try to eat you alive,” she says with a shake of her head. “Chin up. Don't let them smell it on you,” she encourages him before hurrying him out of his apartment and down to the waiting limo.

\---

Josie's demands make sense as soon as she sweeps into the limo. The blue of he dress matches his shirt, and it compliments her hair perfectly. The soft material skims her body delicately and fans out at the bottom in a short train. The neckline skims the top of her breasts and the straps rest around her upper arms. She looks regal.

“Don't you look dapper?” she says with a predatory smile once the driver shuts her door.

“He does,” Meg agrees from the other side of the limo. She quietly opens a bottle of champagne and offers Josie a glass.

Josie waits for Cas to be holding one as well before raising it to him. “To great successes,” she says before taking a small sip, leaving no residue of her vibrantly pink lips behind. Cas takes a sip of his own drink. It's the same champagne his mother loves. It tastes like ash on his tongue. He takes another sip anyway.

Cas offers Josie his arm when they arrive at the place catering the event. He makes a good show of guiding her, when in reality she leads him like a small dog. “Darling, you must meet Mr. and Mrs. Roth,” she says as she embraces a woman twice his age and her husband. Castiel nods politely and takes the man's hand before kissing the woman's. Josie seems very pleased as Mrs. Roth gushes over him.

Josie wastes no time introducing him to everyone they pass. She knows everyone's name, and she's so quick that Cas is almost fooled into believing it has nothing to do with Meg who hovers mere steps behind them. The only time Meg isn't by their side is when she is refilling their drinks. Drinks that go down far too easily.

Cas gets pinched, petted, groped, and kissed all night. Everyone seems to think he's a prize on display that they need to get their hands on to get their money's worth. He even has his ass groped by more than one man whose wife stands nearby speaking with Josie about the current performances at the company.

Cas is lightheaded and dazed by the time dinner begins, and he barely has time to take a bite of his salad before the string ensemble begins to play. Josie takes the fork from his hand and places it beside his plate. Then she has him guide her to the dance floor. “We are here to put on a show, darling. No time for wilted salads,” she whispers in his ear as she positions herself in his arms.

Cas waltzes with her easily. He's known this kind of dance nearly as long as ballet. It's nothing he considers himself skillful at, but he is proficient enough to make her shine. That is, after all, why she chose him for this evening.

Once the song has ended, other women flock for their chance to dance with him, and Josie gives him another one of her dangerous smiles before leaning up till her lips touch his ear as she speaks. “You show them a good time. Happy wives make satisfied husbands, and satisfied husbands dig deeper into their pockets. Now be a good boy, and play your part,” she says before pulling back and making a show of straightening his collar.

Cas must dance with twenty women before the night is over. He misses each course as new women continue to come up to him before Josie steps out for the final dance. His head is spinning from too little food, too much wine, and too many perfumes.

“Mother taught you well. These women's tongues will be wagging for weeks,” she says as she dances closer to him. “Does it make you feel powerful, Castiel? They'll go home tonight to their boring old husbands and think of you, dream of you, pleasure themselves to you. You intoxicate them, addict them. By the time the show opens, they'll be desperate for another glimpse. A look at what's under that beautifully wrapped package, and they'll flock to see the show. Their friends will flock to see what you're all about, and they'll keep coming back to feed those memories. Doesn't that make you feel like a god, Castiel?” she asks.

Cas feels so disoriented as he dips her and reels her back up. Her words stick like cobwebs in his mind. “No, it makes me feel like a doll to be passed around and played with,” he growls as the song ends. Years of his mother's anger keep him from storming off, but he wants to. He feels sick, and he needs to go home. He needs his cramped, messy apartment, and he needs to breathe.

“What do you think a dancer is, Castiel? It's a doll come to life. You are their fantasy,” she drawls patronizingly, letting him lead her off the dance floor.

Meg meets them with a wrap for Josie and a steadying hand for Cas. She hands him a glass of water while Josie says goodbye to several people. “You did well, Clarence. They didn't have a clue you were terrified,” she says softly as she types on her smartphone.

“ _She_ knew,” Castiel says as he finishes his drink.

“Josie doesn't need to smell fear. _Everyone's_ afraid of her, and she walks all over everyone because of it. Don't worry, I called you a separate limo. I'll handle her,” Meg assures him before putting her phone away.

They walk outside together, and the limo they came in is waiting. Cas holds Josie's hand until she's inside. Meg points behind their limo once Josie is situated. Cas follows her hand, but his eyes must be playing tricks on him, because he sees Dean's sleek black car parked behind them, and Dean's leaning against her hood.

“Now, take your phone and let him put you to bed. I expect to see you at the studio at one o'clock tomorrow. I sent out your meal, so make sure you eat something before you go to bed. You look very pale. Now get going, your boy is waiting,” Meg says as she tucks his cellphone into his jacket pocket.

“Not mine,” Cas slurs, but Meg just rolls her eyes and gives him a gentle push.

Cas stumbles toward the Impala, and Dean pushes off the hood to come help him. “Woah there Casanova, how much did you drink tonight?” Dean laughs as he puts and arm around Cas' shoulder and guides him to the passenger side door.

“I do not know. I was not allowed to eat,” Cas replies dejectedly. “I do not feel well.”

“Yeah, you don't look so hot either. We'll get you home safe though,” Dean says as he helps Cas sit. He comes round the other side of the car, and Cas feels his stomach protest as they pull out into traffic. “So, definitely a deal with the Devil, I guess,” Dean says as they drive.

“She prefers the same champagne as my mother,” Castiel says. He can hear Dean start to laugh, and he wants to see the way Dean's eyes squint with it, but he's afraid to open his eyes. “I was her puppet,” he adds when Dean quiets down.

“You're no one's puppet, Cas,” Dean says.

“Why did you come for me?”

“Your my friend, Cas. Friends pick each other up when they're drunk or at parties they don't want to be at. It's just what you do,” Dean says, and Cas can hear the shrug in his voice. It's like he never even considered he could choose not to show up.

“You are a good friend, Dean,” Cas mumbles before he proceeds to vomit all over his new suit.

“Damn right, I am, because I'm not even going to make you clean that up tomorrow,” Dean says, but Cas has trouble hearing over the ringing in his ears.

He vaguely remembers two sets of strong arms helping him out of the Impala. An unfamiliar voice talking softly as his body is moved. He remembers vomiting again, though he isn't sure if it's on himself, something else, or if he makes it to the bathroom.

He feels warm before he doesn't remember anything else.

\---

Cas wakes the next morning feeling exhausted, but not particularly hung over. He stumbles out of his room to find Dean in the kitchen, frying up last night's meal with some eggs from his fridge.

“Left overs omelet. Solid post drinking breakfast,” Dean says softly as he flips the omelet.

“I think I should be apologizing, but I am unsure what it is I need to apologize for,” Castiel says repentantly.

Dean laughs quietly as he splits the food and pushes it onto two plates. “You puked in my car, mostly all over your suit though. Then when we got you up here, you puked on floor before we could get you to the bathroom. No big deal. It's not like you were plying yourself with alcohol all night,” Dean says as he pushes Cas to sit at the small table.

“We?”

“Yeah, I called Benny when I realized how out of it you were, because I didn't think I'd be able to get you up here without help,” Dean explains. “Now, eat something. You haven't been eating enough substantial food lately, or you wouldn't have been down for the count. Hell just a couple months ago you put me to shame with vodka and cheap whiskey, not a few glasses of champagne,” Dean says wiggling the plate under Cas' nose.

“Thank you, Dean, and I am sorry,” Cas says as he picks up his fork.

“Don't sweat it, but don't get roped into anymore of those parties either. That Josie lady is bad news,” Dean says, joining him at the table.

“Yes, she is,” Castiel agrees, remembering their final dance together, and feeling his skin crawl. “Is Emma excited for our camping trip?” he asks to change the subject.

“Oh man. She won't shut up about it, and when I told her you were coming, she went nuts,” Dean says between mouthfuls of food.

Cas smiles as Dean tells him about where they'll be going, and what he wants to show Cas and Emma. Cas' feels some of the heaviness he woke up with ease as he listens to Dean talk. He looks around his apartment slowly as Dean speaks, and he sees his soiled suit jacket hanging off one of the living room chairs. It's certainly ruined, but it goes well with the dirty laundry by his door and the dirty dishes in his sink.

It certainly isn't the Academy or his mother's estate, but it's comfortable. And dare he say, he likes it here.

\---

 

Dean comes over the night before they are supposed to leave to go camping. Cas worked at the company all day, so he didn't go to Anna's studio that night. Instead, he lies on his second hand couch while Dean goes through his clothes drawer trying to pack for him.

“Cas? Do you own any shorts?” Dean asks incredulously as he walks out of Cas' room holding a stack of slacks and jeans but no shorts.

“Athletic ones,” Cas says as he points to the pile of laundry just inside his apartment door.

“When was the last time you did laundry?” Dean asks wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“I don't know. I had trouble with my bank accounts and money transfers, so it was between laundry and dinner, so I ate instead,” Cas explains with a shrug.

“Wait, what?” Dean asks as he stops in his tracks.

“I said—”

“I know what you said, Cas. I'm not getting why you didn't say anything or ask for help,” Dean says as he drops the jeans into the duffel bag and towers over Cas.

“It wasn't your concern.”

“Like hell, it's not! You're family, Cas. Family looks out for each other,” Dean says with conviction that Cas doesn't fully understand. He grew up with many of the other dancers at the academy, and he had never thought of them as family. He has a family, and they had never concerned themselves with Cas' needs once he was old enough to take care of himself. So, he doesn't really understand why Dean would be concerned with his inability to do his laundry. Dean looks at him like he's grown another head when he says as much.

“Next time, I will tell you?” Cas says, though it comes out as a question.

“Damn right, you will. Now, let's get down to the laundromat, so you have something to wear tomorrow,” Dean says as he drags Cas out of the apartment.

\---

Camping is not what Cas expected, though he isn't entirely sure what he had expected. Dean's car is filled with tents and coolers and a little suitcase full of clothes and toys for Emma. Cas' clothes fit in a takeout bag he had lying on the counter, and Dean's change of clothes are sitting in a neat pile in the corner of the trunk.

It's pleasantly warm during the day, and Dean walks around shirtless as he gathers wood for the fire and sets up the tents. Cas is of little help at first, but when Emma starts picking up sticks to help her father, he follows her around like a lost puppy making sure she doesn't get herself hurt. Dean smiles at him gratefully as he uses the ax he brought to cut the branches into more manageable pieces.

By the time the sun sets, Dean has the fire going and dinner set up, so they eat while Emma tells them all about the toad she discovered under the stick she found. Dean nods along with her tale happily, and Cas smiles at how doting Dean is with her.

Emma insists on making s'mores after dinner, and Dean sets out the materials. Emma is horrified when Cas tells her that he's never had a s'more before, and she and Dean carefully teach him how to roast the marshmallow then secure it between the graham cracker and chunk of chocolate. It's far too sweet for Cas' liking, but he eats three just to make Emma happy, because she seems so proud that she was able to introduce him to something new.

When Emma goes to bed, Dean pulls out a pair of beers from the cooler and hands one to Cas. They sit in companionable silence until they are sure that Emma is fast asleep.

“I've loved camping since I was a little boy. It's one of the few things my dad did with us after mom died. He'd take me and Sammy out a couple of times a summer, and teach us about surviving in the woods. We had to hunt our own food and everything. It was really intense and probably really dangerous for a couple of bratty kids, but it was the only time we were really a family. Maybe it's fucked up, but I wanted Emma to have that too. I mean, I'm not going to have my baby hunting down a deer for dinner, but I wanted to have something that was just us,” Dean says as he sips his drink.

Cas watches him stretch his legs out near the ring of rocks surrounding the fire. Dean looks relaxed, but Cas can feel the tension from the memories he brought up.

“My favorite memory of my father is the bedtime stories he would tell me. They were always different, and he would tell me these elaborate tales when I had trouble sleeping, or I was sick. He was a writer, but he never wrote them down. I still remember some of them, and when he left I would tell my toys the stories he told me,” Cas admits as he too takes a drink.

“We're quite a pair,” Dean laughs a little bitterly. “I have to admit, I love coming out here, because it reminds me of the road. Roughing it. Sometimes, having no attachments to the real world is the best feeling. Sometimes it's the loneliest,” Dean says as he leans back and gazes up at the stars.

Cas knows exactly what he means, but he doesn't know how to articulate it, so he lets the comfortable silence descend over them again.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

PART 2

 

If Castiel thought that the heat-less winter in the studio was bad, he thinks that summer is pure hell. The air conditioning has been broken for weeks, and Anna has canceled the few summer classes she has until the a/c is repaired. While the loss of money is disappointing, the lawsuit for kids passing out from the heat would be much more devastating.

So, Castiel has the studio all to himself until further notice. It's at least ninety-five degrees in the studio, and the old windows won't even open to let in a cross breeze. It's just achingly hot and humid, and if Cas wasn't such a proud man, he'd suck it up and actually practice with his company in the cool air conditioning at the theater. But, he is proud, and he'd rather dance in the heat than be subjected to the other dancers' harsh remarks and pranks any more than he has to already.

Cas has taken to practicing in nothing but his pointe shoes or slippers, depending on his routine for the day. He used to dance naked as a child. When American children would have been toddling around in nothing but their diapers, Cas had been been learning the basics of dance, the foundation of his life. Discipline had to begin early.

Dancing naked is definitely better than dancing in the thick sweaters and leggings of the winter, but it's taken him days to stop flinching every time there is a bump from upstairs or a stirring in the pipes. Cas is by no means shy, but practicing in a studio that is usually full of young boys and girls has forced modesty upon him.

Cas ignores the beads of sweat trailing down his shoulders and over his torso. He is unconcerned by the perspiration on his thighs or dripping from his hair. He loses himself in the moment as he practices each of his jumps relentlessly. Step, step, leap...step, step, leap.

When his legs begin to quiver from hours of exertion, he moves on to his spins. He very meticulously moves through the proper sequence of positions before each spin. Fifth, second, fourth, spin. At first, each position is deliberate and mechanical. Focusing on the technical aspect helps him through the exhaustion that threatens to make him sloppy. When his aching body gives in to muscle memory, he becomes more fluid, allowing positions to bleed from one to another.

Cas is completely unaware of the world around him as his does his twenty-third grand pirouette with his leg fully extended out. There is barely a quiver in his hamstring even though his body is beyond exhausted. He doesn't hear the door open, or notice Dean enter as he spins with his eyes closed.

“Well Cas, that's going to be a really popular show if that's your costume,” Dean says from where he stands in the doorway of the practice studio.

Cas falls out of his spin as he jerks his head in Dean's direction. Dean's in his work overalls, but he's got the top unzipped and hanging around his waist to reveal a grey t-shirt that clings to his damp skin. Cas falters as he takes in Dean's casual posture, but he manages not to fall.

“Don't hurt yourself again on my account, man. You're show opens soon,” Dean says as he pushes into the room, carrying his box of tools. He makes no other comment about Cas being completely naked as he sets the box down beside the air conditioning unit.

Cas stands on aching, shaky legs as Dean bends over to unlock the box. He's provided with a perfect view of Dean's muscled back and tight ass, and much to his horror, he can feel his body respond to it. With nowhere to hide his growing erection, Cas rushes over to his bag where he knows he left a pair of shorts and tights, but Dean glances back at him before he can get there.

“Dude, it's nothing I haven't seen before. It's hot as balls in here. Don't put on clothes on my account,” Dean says as he pops open the chest, but he pauses when his eyes catch Cas' erection. “Heh, that's definitely the nicest compliment I've gotten all day,” he comments with laughter in his eyes.

Cas wants to melt into the floor, but at the same time Dean's expression isn't judgmental at all. He looks far more entertained that Cas dances naked than he looks offended by Cas' body's reaction to him.

“Hell, if you don't mind, I'd like to lose a layer or two myself,” Dean says as he straightens up and tugs off his t-shirt to reveal freckled shoulders and a softly muscled torso. There is absolutely no hope for Cas' erection going down, so he just waves Dean off.

“Take off as much as you like. Cannot be more awkward,” Cas says as he turns back to where he had been practicing his spins.

“Don't challenge me, Cas,” Dean laughs, and Cas can hear he sound of Dean's uniform coverall hitting the floor. He takes a deep breath and gets into position.

Now he's aware of every drop of sweat covering his body. He's aware of the quivering in his muscles from too many hours practicing. He's aware of his erection hanging heavily between his legs, stubbornly making every position feel awkward and exposed, even though Cas can see in the mirrors that Dean isn't even paying him any attention.

Cas takes a steadying breath then starts his routine again. It's all just exercises to improve and maintain form. It's a routine he's done since he was a child, and it should be easy. However, the last time he did it with an unwanted erection was when he was fifteen and just learning what sex and attraction were. It had been mortifying then too, and his brother Gabriel had made sure that everyone in the studio knew “Cassie was growing up.”

Cas growls in frustration as he attempts to do a simple batterie exercise, and he sees Dean look up from where he's unscrewing the air conditioner's casing. “You alright, Cas? It can't be healthy to practice in this heat all day. You look like you need a cold shower,” Dean says, and Cas can hear the concern in his voice, but he can't think of anything but the unfortunate choice of suggestions. Is Dean taunting him for his body's reaction?

“I am fine,” Cas says gruffly as he speeds up his movements.

“Okay, man. Hopefully, I'll have this fixed in no time, so you'll have some relief.”

Relief, the only relief Cas will get is when Dean leaves. Cas sighs and continues onto the next exercise. Dean turns on the radio while he works, and it's the classic rock that he usually listens to, and Cas has little interest in it. However, today it's soothing. It distracts him from himself and the fact that Dean's working in just his boxers not ten feet behind him. The guitar riffs and the scratchy vocals take Cas away and allow his body to do what it does naturally.

“So, how is your ballet coming along?” Dean asks as he works. Cas doesn't slow his work as his quickly shifts from flat foot to pointe and back and forth again.

“It comes. Ruby is not as inept as she seems, but she is bullheaded,” Castiel says as he works on turns, keeping his eyes on a fixed point on the far wall as he moves toward it.

“Well, I guess you can't have it all,” Dean replies, and Cas hears him banging around with the air conditioner, but Cas maintains his focus. It really isn't any different than every other time he's practiced in front of Dean. Dean seems completely uncaring of the fact Cas is wearing not a stitch of clothing.

Castiel needs a break about twenty minutes into Dean's battle with the a/c. His body aches something fierce, and he needs to give his ankles a rest before he injures them. So, he does one last pass then walks over to his bag to grab a sports drink. Normally, Cas wouldn't drink anything so processed, but in the heat he needs the electrolytes and even the sugar to keep him on his feet.

He walks around the studio to keep his muscles warm, and he stretches them thoroughly while he catches his breath. He sits on the floor with his back to the mirror as he carefully removes his shoes. His toes aren't as bloody as he expects, and that pleases him. His body is getting stronger which is what it needs if he is going to get through the run of performances without injury. The company set up a grueling performance schedule, trying to milk his name for all its worth.

He would complain, but he's already negotiated his time at the company's studio to the absolute minimum, so he's afraid to ask for anything else, especially something that would obviously cut their gains.

Cas sighs, but it becomes a hiss as he unwraps the other foot. His ribbons slipped from the sweat covering his legs, and they dug into his ankle. They left a sore, but the skin is intact, at least. He'll use the tape tomorrow.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean curses from the opposite side of the room, and Cas looks up in time to see him toss his screwdriver to the ground.

“Something wrong?” Cas asks as he takes in how Dean's freckled shoulders glisten with sweat.

“Yeah, Zach's an asshole. This thing is missing an entire component. I bet he needed it for his own unit and came down and took this one, because I know I replaced that part last year. Fuckin' asshole,” Dean grumbles as he picks up his cellphone and starts jabbing at numbers.

Cas watches as Dean starts to pace around the room as he waits for someone to pick up. Cas goes back to his task as Dean starts talking to someone on the other end of the line. He curses a lot as he talks, but Dean's emotive speech is as familiar as the soft tone he uses when Emma is upset.

Cas smiles as he massages and works the muscles in his feet and ankles so he can put on his slippers. It always feels painful yet wonderful to work on his feet after a long session. He remembers how bloody and mangled his toes were when he started pointe. He'd had to beg the ballerinas to do it for him, because his own feet made him want to vomit. He quickly learned to overcome that, and had been tending himself ever since.

Cas eases the slippers on when he's thoroughly stretched. He uses the barre to get to his feet, and he starts his warm up at the barre. He does kicks in each position then batterie and plié.

“Did you ever want to be something else, Cas? Like an astronaut or a pirate?” Dean asks after he's done with his call. Cas can hear him packing up his tools, so he supposes there will be no air conditioning tonight.

“I always want to dance,” Cas says as he maintains his focus.

“Always? There was never a time you wanted to throw it all away and do something completely different or a time that you had doubts?” Dean presses, and Castiel gets the distinct impression that this is less about whether he's felt these things, and more about telling Dean it is alright if _he_ feels this way. However, Castiel pauses to give the question honest thought for a moment, because Dean deserves a thoughtful answer.

“Once. After my father left us. I wanted to be a detective like in old American movies, so I might find him. Bring him home where he belonged. I suppose I thought about it again when Gabriel left us, but by then I was already so involved in the company,” Cas replies as he steps away from the barre and takes the center of the floor.

“Do you ever think about how life would be different if you had?” Dean asks. Cas can hear the exhaustion in his voice. There is a heaviness there that doesn't just come from the oppressive heat.

“No, I have learned that just because you want someone in your life does not mean they care to have you in theirs. I _do_ think about how life would be different if I stayed in Russia. I could have done so much with the company, but I never would know if I could be more than my family's puppet. I would not meet Anna, or Emma, or you. I think...” Cas pauses his movements again, returning to first position. His eyes connect with Dean's in the mirror. “I think maybe we think too much about what could have been that we forget the things we would give up in the process. Would a different life be worth not seeing Emma grow up?”

Cas can see he hit the nail on the head when Dean averts his eyes. “What if she grows up to hate me like her mom? She called me a selfish bastard tonight when I told her we couldn't go to a movie, because I promised Anna I'd look at the air conditioner. Like, what if I gave up the life I was living just to raise a girl who's going to hate me anyway?”

“Was being homeless truly better than watching your daughter grow?”

“No,” Dean says immediately, but he still looks conflicted. “I tried before...to be a father. Ben wasn't mine, but I tried living with his mom. I was happy. It was the longest I'd stayed off the road since I was old enough to get out of my house. But in the end, I didn't stay. I started disappearing for a night at a time, then a couple of days, and finally it got to the point that Lisa told me to leave,” Dean admits.

“Do you want to leave?”

“No.” It's said with a sigh.

“Dean, you are a good father. I cannot comment on your relationships, but I have seen you with your child, and I would never question your ability to be a good father to Emma. I think you need to be less critical of yourself,” Cas says as he swipes at his wet forehead.

“ _You_ think so? This coming from the guy who throws a fit if his pliés aren't deep enough.”

“Yes, Dean. I am aware that I am well versed in self-criticism, but I also know when criticism is unwarranted.”

“Ugh, this definitely qualifies as a chick-flick moment, which I don't do,” Dean says as he runs his hands over his face.

“I do not understand what that means,” Cas replies as he begins to dance again.

Dean chuckles and waves dismissively. “Too many feelings,” he says as he wipes his hands on a small towel to clean them. “Let's talk about something else. You meet any nice Americans since you've been here?” Dean asks, and Cas doesn't really understand what he's asking.

“I have met Anna, and of course, I've met you,” Castiel says, and he hears more than sees Dean trip over the chair by the cooling unit.

“That's all?”

“I have met my company, but I would not consider most of them to be 'nice' in any way,” Cas says as he practices an arabesque that always gives him trouble en pointe. Perhaps if he can work out the balance in his soft shoes, he can get it en pointe.

“I meant like girls you want to fuck,” Dean says as he sits heavily in the chair.

“I thought the mortifying erection would have been enough evidence that I am attracted to men,” Cas says, hoping Dean doesn't make something out of it.

“So? You wouldn't be the first straight guy I gave a boner to, and you said you still loved that ballerina,” Dean laughs, and Cas stops to look at him questioningly. “Benny. I gave him a lap dance when I lost a bet, and he got a chubby. All that friction and whatnot. No biggie...well, yes _biggie_ , but that's completely different,” Dean says with a chuckle, and Cas feels his ears heat.

“I-I like both,” Cas admits softly when a heavy silence falls over the sweltering room.

“Huh,” Dean says with a shrug. Cas feels a weight lift off his shoulders when Dean doesn't make any crass comments. Dean just smiles and points to him. “Do I get to see the new part you learned today or what, Baryshnikov?” Dean asks.

Cas can't help the subtle smile that spreads over his face. “You researched,” he says as he gets into position for their nightly show.

“Don't get too excited. I only kept watching for the ridiculous codpieces,” Dean says with an irreverent smile and hand gesture. Cas rolls his eyes but soon he starts to dance. Dean always watches him with a slightly dazed expression like he's staring into the sun and forgot the world existed outside the light. It makes Castiel feel weightless. It makes him dance like he has wings.

_“No no no, Castiel,” Naomi says as she stalks over to her adolescent son. “You dance like you have rocks tied to your ankles. No one comes to see an elephant stomp around the stage. You must dance like you have wings, Castiel. You are light and free,” she says as she demonstrates what she wants._

_Castiel doesn't see her movements as light or free, but he trusts her judgment. She's danced her whole life._

_Castiel tries to dance like his mother showed him, but she shakes her head and looks to his brother for help. “How do I teach him? He is impossible. He dances like your father,” she says in exasperation._

_“Maybe he just doesn't have his wings yet, mom. He has to feel it not force it,” Gabe says with a shrug. He's eating a lollipop which only makes their mother scowl more._

_“You take nothing seriously,” she says and turns her back to him as she leaves, having had enough of her two youngest sons._

_Castiel can see the sadness in Gabe's eyes as he tries to give him a reassuring smile. “You'll dance better than any of us could ever wish to, Cassie. You're different. You'll find that spark. That something that gives meaning to it all that even endless practice can't teach. Just don't let mom and Michael try to_ _change you,” Gabe says before he too leaves._

“Wow, man. That was something,” Dean's voice cuts through the memories, and Castiel finds himself standing in the final position he learned today. “You're incredible.”

“Thank you,” Cas says as he bows his head and shuffles over to redress. He feels out of sorts now. He doesn't want the vulnerability of nudity, and he doesn't particularly want to be around anyone, but Dean has other thoughts.

“You packing up? I'll give you a lift home. It's just as gross outside, and you don't look like you're good for much else,” Dean says as he too starts to redress himself.

Cas just nods absently, because he can't be bothered to argue with Dean over something so trivial. They make their way down to Dean's car, but neither of them speak. Dean seems to have caught on to Cas' somber mood, and won't disturb it, for which Cas is grateful. He has a lot to think about, and Dean can't help with that.

Dean leaves him at the curb outside his building with a soft smile and an apology about bringing down the mood. Cas gives him a serious look to convey how Dean has nothing to do with the mood he's in, then leaves before anything else can be said.

“I'll be by tomorrow with the part. Just a heads up. Feel free to not wear clothes again,” Dean shouts out the open passenger side window, and Cas gives him an exasperated look. He's beginning to learn that Dean likes to see him flustered, but Cas isn't giving it to him easily.

\---

The next night, true to his word, Dean shows up while Cas is going through the choreography for the ballet. He spent most of his day at the tower practicing with the company, but he always likes to go over what he can on his own. The tension when he's with the other dancers prevents him from finding his inner balance. He still dances with great technical skill, but it's missing the heart of the performance that he finds when Dean watches him.

Dean seems to be in a better mood than yesterday, but he immediately picks up on Cas' frustration. “Rough day at the office?” he asks as he puts down his tool box and a cardboard box he holds in his other hand.

“I do not have an office...”

“It's a saying, Cas. Means you had a crappy day at the studio,” Dean explains as he gets to work immediately. Cas is naked again. There is really no other way to go about it. The company's studio is frigid, and to go from that to this is a nightmare. It is either practice with no clothes or not practice at all.

“Yes, it was difficult,” Castiel replies as he resets himself. He has music playing tonight in order to keep his focus away from his troubles. Music always grounds him. Chopin's nocturnes are his choice this evening, brooding as he is.

“Sorry to hear that, Cas,” Dean says, and Cas can feel the sincerity even though Dean's back is facing him as he takes the casing apart for the second night in a row. “This heat can't be helping at all,” he rambles as he works, and Cas grudgingly smiles at how easily Dean can start to distract him from his worries.

“We had heat in Russia, but not this wet and heavy,” Cas replies as he stretches. They fall into the companionable silence they keep while both of them work. Cas knows that Dean likes to fill silences, but he always lets Castiel dance without interruption.

“You mind me asking what's got you so tense? You look like you're struggling tonight,” Dean says when he takes a break to watch Cas perform today's routine. It isn't anything new since the whole show is choreographed by now, but Dean watches it like it's the first time.

“I do not struggle,” Cas replies more harshly than he intended. He stops what he's doing to glare at Dean. “It is hot, and I do this for hours. I do not ask why you don't fix air conditioner faster!” Castiel says angrily before stalking to the barre and starting to stretch, ignoring Dean.

“Um, okay. Guess the show's over. I'll just get back to work,” Dean says as he gets up and returns to his task.

The air is even heavier after that. They work in uncomfortable silence, and it only adds to the tension in Cas' body. Cas grows more and more frustrated as he watches himself in the mirror and sees exactly what Dean sees. He's too stiff, lacking all of the grace he's known for. He does his warm ups again, but it doesn't make a noticeable difference.

Cas walks to the center of the room and starts the choreography again, but stops after the first sequence of moves. He stalks back to the start and just stands there breathing in and out, trying to find control through that. He closes his eyes to focus, and he draws all of his attention to the expansion and contraction of his lungs.

He isn't prepared at all when Dean's callused hands rest on his damp shoulders, and he tenses further as his eyes fly open. He meets Dean's gaze in the mirror, and Dean starts to massage his tense shoulders.

“When I lived out of my car, I don't think I knew what it was not to be tense at all times. It wasn't the easiest way to live. Never know if you'll freeze to death in the winter or die of the heat in the summer. Can't sleep with the windows open in the bad parts of town, which are the parts people don't call the cops when they see you sleeping in your car.”

Dean uses more pressure to work out the knots as he talks. His voice is soft and soothing even though he's talking about something deeply personal to him. “I was in debt. I had basically abandoned my family, and I was running from something, and I wasn't even sure what it was. My shoulders were harder than bricks if you felt them,” he says as he moves his fingers down to just beneath Cas' shoulder blades to work out the tension there.

“One night, I was passing through this town on the edge of nowhere. Just fields for miles and miles when you crossed the town line. I got drunk and picked up this guy, but it was a small town in middle America, so that sort of thing just wasn't accepted. So, he took me out to these fields where no one would happen across us. I'm sure you know what happened next, but it was afterward when we were lying there in the dirt catching our breath,” he pauses and looks up at Cas like he isn't entirely sure why he's telling him this, but he continues anyway.

“Afterward, this guy looked at me and told me if I was any tenser, I'd start shitting diamonds. He gave me a massage like this, then he made me lie there with my eyes closed and really listen. It's nuts how noisy the night is, but it helped me relax a little,” Dean says as he works even lower.

Cas doesn't speak as Dean works, and he doesn't flinch when Dean rests his hands on his hips. His thumbs rub small circles into his flesh, and Cas can't really stop the soft whisper of a moan the slips past his lips.

“Tell me if I should stop,” Dean says into his ear, and his breath is hot against Cas' skin. Dean's right hand snakes around Cas' hip and wraps around the erection hanging heavily between his thighs. Cas doesn't tell him to stop. He let's his head fall back against Dean's shoulder and tries not to make a fool of himself, because it's been a while since anyone's touched him so intimately.

Dean begins to stroke him slowly, and the sweat covering his skin slicks the movements. Cas' hand comes up to grasp Dean's forearm, but he doesn't stop him, just holds on. Dean buries his face in Cas' neck, placing soft kisses in the crook of it as he slowly strips Cas' cock.

Dean doesn't try to talk through it, and all that can be heard in the studio are Cas' soft pants and keening moans. Dean's hand remains on Cas' hip, thumb still caressing, and Cas wants to ask for more. He wants to ask Dean to lift him up like he knows he can. He wants to be carried to the wall and taken roughly there. He wants so much, but at the same time he doesn't want anything other than Dean's hands on him gently coaxing his body to relax into him, to surrender to Dean.

Cas feels Dean press a kiss just behind his earlobe, and he tightens his grip on Dean's forearm. “You need to relax, Cas,” Dean says as he moves the hand on Cas' hip around to caress his lean stomach.

Cas feels light at Dean's gentle touches. He feels like he does when he dances for Dean and Dean alone. There is no heaviness in his chest, and the tension bleeds from his shoulders as he melts into Dean's embrace. “That's it,” Dean encourages as he runs his thumb over the head of Cas' cock.

Cas moans as he rolls his head to nip at Dean's jaw. He wants to return the favor, to touch Dean all over and have him just as naked, but he can't move. He's completely at Dean's mercy, his body completely content.

“You're beautiful,” Dean says as he starts to stroke harder. Cas arches his back into Dean's fist and cries out. “Gorgeous.”

Cas lifts his head to look at his body in the mirror, where Dean watches himself pleasure Cas. He's completely flushed, and he can see the sweat on his skin. Cas finds himself to look a bit repulsive until he sees Dean's expression. Dean watches his body's every flinch and flush with hungry eyes, as though he's never seen something so perfect.

Dean catches his eye in the mirror and holds his gaze as he turns his head just enough to mouth at Cas' jaw. “I want to see you fall apart. None of the composure I see every night. I want to see you unravel,” Dean says heatedly, and Cas gasps as Dean punctuates his request with a twist of his wrist that sends pleasure winding up his spine.

Cas focuses on his breathing as he feels the heat from Dean's gaze like a brand on his already heated skin. He raises his hand to hold onto Dean's wrist as he lightly trails his fingers up over Castiel's tattooed stomach. Cas can feel the question in Dean's touch, but it can wait, because honestly, Cas can't handle anything more than holding onto Dean and drowning in pleasure.

Dean's pace isn't hurried. It isn't demanding or frenzied. Dean is deliberate. He's tender, but he's also keeping Cas on edge and not pushing him over. Cas feels like he's balancing on the tip of a knife, and it's maddening.

“Dean,” Cas moans. He doesn't let anything else slip from between his lips, because he can't form English words right now, and mumbling in his native tongue while already laid bare before Dean seems too intimate. Then Dean raises his hand to cup Cas' jaw and guide him into a soft kiss.

Cas couldn't keep the Russian sonnets from spilling from his lips if they were sewn shut.

Dean looks into his eyes with a small adoring smirk. “Waxing poetic in the mother tongue?” Dean asks, and Cas knows he doesn't realize how correct he is, but something in his eyes must give him away, because Dean looks shocked for a second before he starts to stroke Cas with a purpose. Cas has to reach up and grab the nape of Dean's neck to keep himself up, and Dean smirks into the flesh of his shoulder before sinking his teeth into it just enough to threaten.

“Yes,” Cas groans and grinds back into Dean's hips. He feels Dean hard against his ass, and he yearns for more again, but he knows that's asking too much when this hadn't even been on the table twenty minutes ago.

“I've got you, Cas. You can let go,” Dean says, and his arm tightens around Cas' waist as a physical reminder of something much deeper.

Cas doesn't realize how much he needed someone to take his burden off his shoulders for a moment until Dean says it so plainly. It's like his strings are suddenly cut, and he feels his legs stop holding him up, but he barely dips, because Dean takes his weight like it's always been a part of his own.

Dean gives his dick two more tantalizingly firm strokes before Cas feels his body tighten up as he hits his climax. He feels his come leak over Dean's strong fingers and his muscles lose all determination as he goes pliant in Dean's arms as he strokes him through it. Emotionally, it's overwhelming to feel such an incredible high while completely bared to another, while Dean is fully clothed and aware of what's happening to Cas. Yet, Cas doesn't feel shame or even uncomfortably exposed.

Dean presses soft kisses to Cas' damp neck as he loosens his grip but continues to stroke Cas through his aftershocks. He whispers nonsense, or maybe words Cas' brain just can't translate right now, as he holds Cas tightly to his chest.

Dean doesn't let Cas go even once he's come down from his orgasm. He strokes his fingers through the soft hairs above his now soft penis, and he lets the thumb of his other hand caress Cas' ribs where he holds him. Eventually, he sinks to the floor, and Cas doesn't fight it as Dean arranges him in his lap.

He uses his handkerchief to clean up his hand and Cas as he continues to hold Cas to him. “Just relax, man. Let me take care of you for a bit,” Dean says, and Cas would fight him on it if he wasn't already so relaxed. He doesn't need to be taken care of. He can do it fine on his own, but right now, he can't even form the words to thank Dean for an incredible hand job, never mind tell him off.

Dean begins to stroke his hand through Cas' hair, and Cas all but purrs at the feeling of it. Dean presses a soft kiss into Cas' damp hair between strokes, then helps him lie on his back on the dance floor.

Cas momentarily thinks that Dean's going to fuck him now as Dean moves down his body, letting his fingers trail over Cas' skin. However, when Cas feels Dean's hand untying his pointe shoes, he's reminded that Dean promised to take care of him, and he's taking the job seriously.

Dean kisses Cas' ankles, where the ribbons dug into his skin, and he trails his tongue over the tiny grooves in the flesh. He's extremely careful when he removes Cas' shoes, having watched Cas remove them to reveal bloody toes more than once. There's little to no blood tonight, but Cas is still self-conscious about his dancer's toes. He doesn't find anything about them attractive. They've repulsed him more than once, and he's just about to pull his feet away when Dean presses a soft kiss to the top of each foot right where his toes meet the rest of his foot.

There's nothing erotic about it, but it takes Cas' breath away nonetheless. Dean holds his feet still as he uses his thumbs to massage his arches which always ache after a lengthy practice. Cas groans and throws an arm over his eyes as a completely different kind of pleasure fills his body. It feels so good to have his abused feet taken care of that Cas forgets everything else but the sensation of months worth of stress being worked out of his feet.

Dean's hands are strong, and his technique is sure. He isn't tentative as he digs his fingers into his feet. When he gets to Cas' toes, it's painful for them to be manipulated, but it's also so relieving that Cas can't control the sounds the slip from his mouth.

Dean doesn't say a word as he works, and he continues his massage until he's worked both of Cas' feet and ankles until they feel loose pliant under his fingers. Cas is in a state of near delirium by the time Dean pulls back, and he doesn't notice that Dean's gone until he comes back and lifts his legs again to slip his sweat pants onto them.

He dresses Cas as well as he can while Cas lies on the floor like a limp rag. When Cas is wearing a t-shirt and sweats, Dean presses a kiss to his forehead and goes back to work. Cas is asleep before Dean even gets all of his tools out again.

When Cas wakes, it's to the sound of a working air conditioner. Already, the air in the studio is cooler than when he was practicing. Cas is a bit disoriented until he feels Dean's hand in his hair again.

“Hey, Cas, it's pretty late. I should be getting you home,” Dean says as Cas opens his eyes slowly and leans into the touch.

“What time?” Cas asks groggily, and the first thing he sees when his eyes fully open is Dean's smile.

“Almost midnight. You've been out a couple hours. Didn't want to wake you right away, because you seemed like you could use the rest,” Dean says apologetically, but Cas waves it off.

“It is fine. Help me up,” Cas says, and Dean immediately helps him sit then pulls him to his feet. Cas stumbles at first. His feet feel odd, and his whole body feels too loose to belong to him, but Dean steadies him and keeps an arm around him as he leads him to his bag.

Dean stays close to him as they head down to the car, and Cas is too sleepy and sluggish to care. He keeps glancing at Cas as he drives, and Cas would ask him what's on his mind, but his tongue feels too heavy for English.

He should talk to Dean. He should ask him about what happened tonight and what it means, but Cas is happy to call it a much needed reprieve from the stress they've both been under and move on. If Dean feels differently, he'll let his thoughts be known, but Cas won't let this make things weird.

“Hey, Cas. We're here,” Dean calls to him, and Cas gets the impression that he's said this more than once. “Um, I'm gonna make sure you get up to your place. You still seem out of it,” Dean says as he gets out of the car and comes around.

He takes Cas' bag even though Cas argues, and he wraps an arm around Cas' waist even though Cas says he's completely capable of walking. On the second flight of stairs, Cas is grateful for the support.

Cas opens his apartment and reaches for his bag, but Dean rolls his eyes and steps past Cas into his apartment. “Dude, you look like an extra on _The Walking Dead_. I've got this,” Dean says, then carries the bag to Cas' room and separates Cas' dirty clothes from his clean ones and takes his shoes out to air just like Cas always does after practice.

He didn't realize how close he and Dean have become until he sees Dean taking up his routine as though it's his own. Dean puts tomorrow's leotards and tights into the bag as well as new water bottles to replace today's. Then he carries it out of the room to place it beside Cas' front door before returning.

“Come on, you need a bath even if you're tired. I'll grab the ice out of the freezer,” Dean says as he starts the water in the tub. Cas strips and gets in the bath while Dean's in the kitchen. The water's cold, and it only gets more so when Dean dumps two bags of ice in with him.

Cas curses, suddenly awake. Dean's looking down at him with an amused smirk, and if Cas' legs weren't quickly going numb he'd lunge at Dean. The ice feels good though. He knows the kind of massage Dean gave him can cause swelling, so this is necessary. He's surprised that Dean knows this, but Dean's full of surprises when it comes to Cas' career.

He has a sneaking suspicion that Dean's done quite a bit of research on the subject, but he doesn't want to call Dean out on it for fear that he'll seem ungrateful for all Dean does for him.

Cas is taken out of his musings when Dean's fingers gently brush his tattoo again. Cas looks up from the ice cubes floating about his waist to see Dean staring at him stomach in awe.

“It is stupid really,” Cas says, but he doesn't stop Dean's touch.

“Can't be that stupid if you went to the trouble of getting it,” Dean says, pulling his hand back and looking up into Cas' eyes.

“It is for protection. I got it before I came here. Mother and Michael constantly talked about how dangerous it was here. They spoke of how cruel and cutthroat people would be, and said I would be a lamb amongst wolves. So, I got this. A reminder of home, and something to keep me safe,” Cas explains, letting his own fingers trail over the angelic script.

“That's not stupid,” Dean assures him, sitting on the lid of the toilet seat.

“My mother did not think so. Said I would never get the part with visible tattoo,” Cas admits, lying back against the tub.

“I don't really like your mom very much, man,” Dean says, and Cas can only nod. He loves his mother, but often he does not like her very much either.

“It is hard for her. She danced in a much stricter world. Things we take for granted now were so big then. She lost her career because she became pregnant with my brother. Not only her career, but so much prestige she had as prima ballerina. They believed she would earn the title prima ballerina absoluta—there is no greater title in ballet—but she had Michael, because she loved my father. She became an outcast, because she was not married to my father then, and she let her company down.

“She would never dance professionally again, so she used us to fulfill her dreams. She used the last of her connections to have us enrolled in the academy. She wanted us to have the success that was taken from her. Then my father left her. My brother left her. Now, I leave her. She loves us, but she loves dance more, and that is a lonely life,” he explains, fingers still tracing his tattoo.

“I think your mom and my dad would get along,” Dean says bitterly.

“What is your father's first love?” Cas asks, looking up at Dean.

Dean's expression is dark when he replies. “My mother, but she died,” he says coldly.

Dean gets up and grabs a towel, then he helps Cas out of the bathtub without saying another word. He's very professional about how he touches Cas, as though hours before he hadn't wrung a powerful orgasm out of him, but Cas knows he isn't one for “chick flick moments,” so he assumes he's keeping his distance because they most certainly just had one.

“You need anything else, Cas?” Dean asks once he's helped Cas into bed and set his alarm for him. “You should finish that water before you sleep,” he notes, and Cas rolls his eyes.

“I dance since I could walk, Dean. I know to hydrate,” Cas replies as he takes another sip. Honestly, this is the best anyone has ever taken care of Cas when he wasn't seriously injured, and it's damn endearing that Dean cares enough to mother him.

“I know. Reminders don't hurt though,” Dean says, completely unfazed by Cas' comment. His tone is softer again, already forgetting the tension that descended in the bathroom. “Well, if you need anything else at all. You can call me. Phone's right there. I won't be mad,” Dean says before he backs toward the door, and Cas sighs heavily.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you... for everything,” Cas says earnestly, and Dean gives him a small smile.

“Dude, it's no problem. Get some rest,” Dean replies before he closes the door. Cas hears the apartment door close seconds later, and he lies there just thinking about what a strange turn his night took. He can't even bring himself to feel cautious over what happened, because he hasn't felt this relaxed in ages. Cas falls asleep with a small spark of hope burning in his chest.

\---

Two weeks later, Cas is bent over the newly fixed air conditioner as Dean thrusts into him hard and fast. They're both covered in sweat, but this time it's purely from exertion and not the oppressive summer heat. Dean's hips make slick slapping sounds as they meet Cas' ass with each thrust, but they are barely audible over the grunts and moans tumbling from Cas' lips.

There is nothing gentle or tender about them tonight. They're strictly blowing off steam as they urge each other on. Still, Dean is careful not to leave marks on Cas' skin as he kisses his neck and down his spine. He grips the metal of the air conditioner instead of the meat of Cas' hips.

It's dizzying how careful Dean is with him even as he relentlessly takes him apart. Cas is the athlete between the two of them, yet he struggles to catch his breath as Dean pulls out and swiftly spins Cas by the hips—he's still wearing his slippers as Dean interrupted his practice for this—and lifts him onto the cooling unit.

Cas gasps as Dean wraps one of Cas' legs around his waist while lifting the other to rest against his shoulder. Dean smirks as he thrusts in again, bringing them incredibly close and stretching Cas' leg. Dean gets so turned on by Cas' flexibility. At first, he'd been afraid to hurt Cas, but Cas set him straight rather quickly, and now he can't get enough.

Dean picks up the brutal pace again almost immediately, and Cas grabs Dean by the biceps and clings to him as he tenses around Dean. The angle allows Dean to find his sweet spot easily, and Cas feels like he's shaking apart after only a few strokes from Dean's hand. Dean catches his lips in a surprisingly tender kiss as Cas' body tenses then releases.

Dean doesn't slow as Cas rides out his orgasm, and Dean quite swiftly chases his own. He presses his forehead to Cas' chest as he grunts and stiffens against Cas. Dean is careful to let Cas' leg down gently once they're both finished. He massages Cas' thigh for a moment before pulling off the condom and finding the empty grocery bag he brought snacks in to dispose of it.

Classes had started again as soon as the a/c was fixed, so they have to be careful about their trysts. No used condoms can get left in the trash, and Dean doesn't show up until long after the last class lets out. Much to Dean's dismay, Cas practices in tights again.

Cas rubs his eyes as he slips off the air conditioner and walks a little stiffly toward his gym bag. They still haven't discussed what exactly this is, but things between them are as relaxed and natural as usual, so Cas is happy. Dean isn't overt about the nature of their relationship, but he touches Cas when they're with Emma. Just little things like an arm around the waist or a hand on the shoulder or arm. It's familiarity more than possession, but Cas appreciates how Dean seems to have fit him into his life without any fuss.

Emma hasn't said anything, but Cas feels like she has to know. The little girl has proven to be very observant on many occasions, but if she does know something has changed between them, she doesn't point it out. She still greets Castiel eagerly and begs him to teach her everything he knows. Cas finds more and more that he wants to teach her how to hammer a nail or fix a clogged pipe like Dean taught him instead of how to dance. He wants her to know satisfaction rather than criticism, and Cas will forever think of dance and criticism as one.

Still he spins her and lifts her, and praises her childish jumps and spins, because the smile she wears while doing them is of greater merit than some of the finest performances Cas has ever seen.

“Cas, you're zoning on me again. I said, I've got Emma this weekend, so I won't be coming over after work or anything,” Dean says as he pulls on his t-shirt.

“Yes, of course. I will be quite busy with the ballet's premiere anyway,” Cas replies as he shakes himself from his thoughts. He reserved tickets for Dean weeks ago, but he hasn't had the courage to ask if he'll actually go to the premiere. To be fair, he also hasn't worked out whether having Dean there will be help or hindrance to him.

“I know, I know. You can call if you need anything, you know that right? Emma and I are here if you need us, and well if it's something not Emma appropriate, Benny'll watch her for me, but I don't like to waste my weekends with her. But if it's important, I'm here, man. In a fuckin' heartbeat,” Dean rambles, and Cas can't stop the fond smile from forming on his lips.

“Thank you, Dean,” he says as he steps forward and gives his lover a tender kiss. Dean doesn't push the kiss to be anything but sweet, and that's how Cas knows he's being serious. Normally, Dean pushes for heated purposeful kisses. He'd even go so far as to say that Dean keeps him at a distance by pushing their intimacy toward the obscene, but this is honest, just like the first time. “Enjoy your time with Emma. I am sure that I will survive a weekend without our alone time.”

“You'll be calling me by Saturday night beggin' me to talk dirty to ya,” Dean laughs, and Cas just rolls his eyes as he finishes getting dressed.

“You act as though I have not trained for two and a half decades to ignore my desires and focus on my performance,” Cas grumbles, but he isn't angry.

“That was before you met m—ow. What was that for?” Dean whines as he rubs his stomach where Cas pinched his soft tummy.

Cas raises an eyebrow at him, and Dean actually looks scolded by it. “You're going to do great this weekend, Cas,” Dean says softly as they leave the studio together. “You're so fuckin' good, man.”

“Thank you, Dean,” he says with a shy smile. Dean's taught him how to take praise without even trying.

\---

The opening night, Cas is tense. The theater is packed with critics, sponsors, and just regular folk that heard the hype and thought they'd see what it was all about. Cas hasn't felt this nervous about a performance since he was in his teens, but he feels that it's understandable. He's so far from anything he's familiar with that it's almost like his first ballet again.

Backstage, people run about as last minute details are ironed out. Ruby is in and out of makeup as are the rest of the performers. Cas waits till the room is moderately quiet before he lets anyone near him with a brush or blush. He hates it and always has. He always feels more like a clown than a doll or whatever it is he's supposed to look like with a pound of powder and shadow on his face.

He finds a corner to meditate in while others go through warm ups and run quick routines. Cas does yoga between meditations, but he can't seem to shake the lingering tension in his body. His mind is focused, but he can feel that he isn't going to give his best performance if he doesn't loosen up.

He watches Ruby warm up, and she looks stunning. Her lines are long and graceful. Her timing is perfect. Her emotion is visible but not overwhelming. She's everything she's supposed to be, and Cas envies her for a moment. She is about to step out into her moment. The crowd will be hers. She will bask in their attention, and that will sate her hunger.

Cas doesn't know what will feed his hunger anymore. He thought it would be to succeed en pointe, but he succeeded as soon as he got this part, and still he was not satisfied. He thought being perfect would do it, but he's performed this whole ballet perfectly a dozen times in Anna's studio and yet he's still tense now. For the first time before a show, he doubts that this performance will be that moment of clarity he always hopes for. He doubts it will be the time he dances like he has wings.

Cas is torn from his dark thoughts when he phone buzzes. He really shouldn't have it on, but it's just habit to always have it there now.

- _You're the star of this show. Why are your tickets six rows back? Thought I'd be front and center for all your gratuitous bulge action_ -

Cas snorts as he feels a rush of happiness that Dean showed up.

- _Emma insisted on wearing her T-rex leotard, and the couple in front of us is giving me dirty looks, so if I don't actually see your performance, it's because I punched a snotty old couple and I'm sorry, sure you'll be great-_

 _-Even if your costume isn't nearly as cool as Emma's_ -

- _Also_ _, please God tell me you are actually wearing costume because my seven year old daughter is in the audience, and she is not old enough for that...will NEVER be old enough for that.-_

Cas thumbs through the messages again and smiles as he does his last warm ups before the show begins. The tension is still there, but it isn't restrictive now. It doesn't hold him back, just keeps him very focused. He's not afraid of messing up, never has been.

He knows that deep down, he fears that Dean will watch this as his mother watched his first ballet. He's afraid that tension or lack of it won't matter at all, that Dean will find some minor flaw that ruins the performance for him completely. Yet, at the same time, for the first time in years, Cas is excited to perform. Not to show his prowess as a dancer but to share his passion.

Cas finds his position in the dark carefully and waits for the lights and music. Ruby glides across the stage with grace she never showed in practice. Even the others seem to be far superior to anything Cas witnessed in the hours of training they shared.

Cas lets his mind go blank when he reaches his cue, and he just lets himself follow the music. He can feel his muscles as he raises en pointe to cross to Ruby. He circles her in tight turns keeping his eyes focused on her alone. Then he finds himself behind her as she stands in arabesque, and he lifts her gracefully off the stage. There's no flailing or kicks to the face. It's beautiful. It's perfect, and he can feel the audiences anticipation as he dances with her.

It isn't until the second act that Cas feels it. It's the dance he's come to think of as his and Dean's. It's his showcase, and the one he's danced for Dean the most. It's the one he's danced for Dean without a lick of clothes to shield him from Dean's eyes.

It lacks the sensuality of his dances with Ruby, but it is a faster tempo and the choreography is difficult and meant to showcase Cas' talent and grace en pointe. Cas finds his focus almost immediately. He doesn't look for Dean in the sea of blurry faces. Instead, he finds Dean in his mind. He finds those soft green eyes that watch him like he's something special instead of a grown man in a pair of tights.

He finds his wings and he lets himself go.

\---

“Dude, that was nuts. I mean, I'm not into ballet and all, but you rocked that,” Dean says as he rushes to meet Cas as he exits the backstage. The first thing Cas notices is that Dean's wearing a suit. It's not perfectly fitted, but it looks incredible on him anyway.

Dean sweeps him up in a tight hug before he can reply and immediately starts dragging Cas toward Emma and an extremely tall man. “Cas, this is my brother, Sam. I sorta mentioned that I was friends with you, and he got all excited and booked a flight out to see this. Mind you, he hasn't booked a flight out to see just me in months, but _oh Castiel Novak_...” Dean says as he points to Sam who holds Emma on his hulking shoulders easily. Sam rolls his eyes at Dean, and Cas smiles knowing that feeling well.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Sam. Dean did not tell me either of you would be in attendance tonight,” Cas says, and Dean gives him a weird look as he takes Emma from Sam. Emma looks exhausted but content.

“Oh, well it was really amazing, Castiel. I can't believe I got to see one of the greats perform,” Sam says excitedly, and Castiel can't help but like him.

“Dude, we're taking you to Benny's. Celebratory pie and milkshakes, am I right?” Dean says as he tugs on Cas' shirt to lead him. Cas pauses for a moment, because he was going to stay with the cast tonight. Interviews and schmoozing is to be done, but Dean looks so excited to take him out with his family that Castiel feels like he can't talk.

Ruby does it for him though. “Castiel, there you are! Come back. Everyone wants to meet you,” she says as she sidles in between he and Dean and wraps her elegant fingers around his arm and pulls him back toward the backstage.

“Cas was gonna—”

“Sorry, Castiel has obligations tonight. Do come see the show again though,” she says lightly before waving at Dean and Sam as she disappears with Cas in tow.

Castiel can see the confusion and disappointment on Dean's face as the door swings closed between them. He wants to go out with them and get to know Dean's brother. He wants to finish Emma's milkshake for her, because she's too tired while Dean snitches her pie. He wants to feel like he felt on stage. Light and free.

Cas doesn't get back to his apartment until the wee hours of the morning. His body aches not just from the strenuous performance but the hours of fast talking and mingling afterward. Everyone had wanted to shake his hand and get a picture with him. They all wanted to tell him how much they loved his work, and how happy they were to have snatched him up for themselves, as though they had had _anything_ to do with his move.

Cas just wants to sleep for a week, but he needs to be back at the studio for practice then another performance tomorrow. He sighs as he unlocks his phone to find a picture message of Dean and Emma sharing a milkshake that Sam must have taken for them. It makes his heart ache a little that he wasn't there with them, but he realizes that he has just as many obligations he as he did at home. He has just been shirking them for time with Dean and his family. They are a distraction but a welcome one.

Cas opens a message to reply as he turns on the shower, so he can clean off again before bed.

- _I wish I could have been there_.- Cas types before stripping out of his clothing.

His phone starts to ring before he can get into the shower, and when he sees that it's from Dean, he plugs the tub and switches the water to the faucet for a bath. “Hello, Dean,” he answers as he waits for the water to fill.

“Hey, Cas. I just wanted to make sure you got home okay. You didn't look too happy to have to stay behind, so I just wanted to know everything went alright. Ruby didn't try to eat you backstage or anything?” Dean's voice is sleepy, and Cas smiles that Dean probably stayed up hoping he'd call.

“I am home and well, Dean. I do not particularly enjoy being paraded around, but it is part of what I signed up for, so I will not complain. Emma was not too disappointed I could not join you, was she?” he asks because he can't ask if Dean is upset with him.

“Nah, she was too busy givin' us a play by play of the whole thing as though we weren't there for it. I think you're her idol. It's kinda freaky. I'm fuckin' my kid's hero,” Dean says, and Cas can picture the dopey smile Dean is probably wearing.

“You are crude,” Cas says as he sinks into the water with a hiss.

“You okay, Cas? What's wrong?” Dean asks, suddenly sounding very worried.

“Hot bath,” Cas says as he relaxes into the curve of the tub.

“Oh, huh. Sorry. I guess you want to be getting to bed and all, and I'm hear talking your ear off...”

“I enjoy talking to you, Dean. I would not have answered had I not wished to speak to you.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Sorry, it's so late. I didn't realize it was after two. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Cas. Sweet dreams,” Dean says softly, and Cas can hear the affection in his voice.

“Good night, Dean. Thank you for coming tonight. It means a great deal to me,” Cas replies as he lets his body relax.

“It was nothing, Cas. Of course, I was gonna be there. You were so awesome. I mean, I really only know what I've seen you do and some of those YouTube videos Emma showed me, but you were incredible. Like even better than when I saw you practice,” Dean says, and Cas is lulled by the sound of Dean's voice. The tension leaks out of him with Dean's approval. He found nothing to criticize. He's nothing like Naomi.

“Thank you,” he almost whispers as he starts to drift, the phone still tucked between his ear and shoulder.

“You're so incredible, Cas...I love you.” Cas thinks that's what he hears, but his mind is too hazy to really comprehend it. There is a small chuckle on the other end of the line. “You fell asleep on me didn't you?” Cas thinks he may have grunted at that. “Sleep well, Cas.”

Cas only wakes when his phone falls into the water and splashes him. He tries to save it, but it's hopeless, and he retreats to bed with a warm feeling in his heart that he can't pinpoint the origins of.

\---

Cas doesn't have time to get a new phone for a couple of days, because his schedule is full now that the show is open. The critics seem to love the show, and he's being asked for interviews from all sorts of people. Abbadon has him scheduled for several a day between practices, because every bit of publicity helps, she assures him. Cas knows how it goes, but that doesn't stop it from being exhausting.

When he gets his new phone, he has missed calls from Dean and several other numbers. Then there is the message from his mother. He wasn't expecting her to call, but he should know better by now. He runs his hands through his hair as he sits on a park bench. It's the tail end of summer, and he tries to enjoy the last of the nice weather. Winter, whether here or in Russia, will be long and dark.

“Hello, mother,” Castiel says in English when he finally finds the nerve to call her back.

“American critics are soft creatures. They do nothing but trip over their own tongues to be the loudest to proclaim your genius. Not a single review fails to mention your talent. You will grow soft surrounded by such sweetness,” his mother says instead of greeting him. She speaks impeccable English, though he's surprised she isn't speaking Russian just to spite him for leaving. He's certainly speaking English to spite her, even though he longs to converse in his own tongue.

“It is not the critics job to train the dancers, just to inform the audience, mother,” Castiel says tiredly. She has a way of draining him with little effort.

“Castiel, my child, come home. This American dream is no good for you. So, you have a little success, but your show is a novelty. You are not part of their company. You are not part of their country. This show will end, and you will be forgotten, because that is how fickle they are. I am sure they all tell you how wonderful you are now, but they will forget you when another is dangled in front of them. Come home where your place with the company is secure, and your name is as stable as the Caucuses,” Naomi says, and Castiel bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from speaking.

He clenches his fist as he sits completely still. He breathes in and out several times before speaking. “Mother, I am here for a limited engagement as it is. When it is over I will decide what I wish to do, but I will not abandon a production I have a contract with just because you ask me,” he says in what he hopes is a reasonable manner.

“What if I told you that the company will choreograph a ballet to showcase your talents? En pointe. The choreographer will collaborate with you, anything you like. They see what a success you are in America, and they want you home where you belong. I want you home, Castiel. I want to be able to see how talented my son is,” she says, and Castiel stops everything for a moment to let her words sink in. He can't focus as he thinks about dancing in a Russian theater like he did opening night. The nimble steps and grace as he spins on his toes, stretches to the brink, finds every pose as though they come to him instead of he to them. It's been his dream since he was a child, and even if his mother is manipulating him to come home, it's still his dream.

“I—”

“Castiel, think about it. That is all I ask. I do not need your answer today. Good luck tonight,” she says, and she actually sounds fond of him for the first time Castiel can recall. He feels like his throat is closing up, but he squeezes his fist again.

“Thank you, Mama. I miss you,” he says before hanging up and slumping against the bench. Cas can't fight the images of his old theater filled with people coming to see him dance the way they do here. He would dance with Raphael with her dark skin and sharp features or maybe Tessa with her gentle technique. His mother would be able to see that he may not be like Michael, but he is great in his own manner.

He finds his fingers dialing Dean's number even as he daydreams. “Cas! I was getting worried. I assumed you drowned your phone, but it's been days. Emma was worried,” Dean rambles as soon as he answers. Cas doesn't even fight the smile as Dean's voice washes over him.

“I am sorry, Dean. I have been very busy with the company and just now bought a new phone,” Cas apologizes as he stands and starts heading for his apartment. He will need to get back to the theater for the show tonight, but he has a couple hours to himself, and he wants to see Dean. “Are you busy?”

“Nah, Emma's with her mom today, and Sam is taking in the museums while he's in town,” Dean says, but Cas can hear the sounds of the shop in the background. He's obviously still at work which Cas should have realized.

“I wanted to see you, but you are at work. It can wai—”

“No, Cas, it's fine! I can take a couple hours off. I don't have anything that needs to be finished by the end of the day. I can just come back when you head to the theater,” Dean says, and Cas can hear the eagerness in Dean's voice.

“I'll be at my apartment,” Cas says simply, and Dean doesn't even reply before hanging up. He can't wait to tell Dean about the news. He can't wait to share his excitement. He wants to tell Emma too. She'll be over the moon. She always talks to him about the Russian ballerinas she watches on the internet and how pretty they are and how she wants to be just like them.

Cas drops his phone and keys on the small table Dean had made for him out of scrap metal from the junkyard. He walks straight to the cramped kitchen space and searches out the bottle of vodka he has in the freezer for special occasions.

Dean walks in, in his uniform, fifteen minutes later. He's scrubbed most of the grease off his hands and face, but there are still smudges where he wiped his forehead with his dirty arm thoughtlessly. Cas doesn't even wrinkle his nose as Dean smiles brightly and pulls him in for a tight hug.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says into Cas' neck as he holds him tightly. “What's the occasion? Or are we just day drinkin' for fun?” he asks as he eyes the bottle over Cas' shoulder.

“Celebration,” Cas says as he pulls back and pours them each a glass.

“I'm supposed to supply the celebratory drinks for your ballet, man. I told you we'd go out,” Dean says though there is no fight to it. He seems perfectly content to toast Cas in his tiny kitchen.

“Not for this ballet. My mother called. My company wants to showcase me, since this show is such a success,” Cas says proudly as he holds up his drink.

Dean just stares at him, holding his glass too tightly. He doesn't say anything or hold up his own glass. His expression is confused at first, but it gets more distant as he watches Cas. “Your mom called...” he says with mild disbelief tainting his words. “I...well, congrats, Cas,” he says, but his words sound bitter as he holds up his glass, clinks it against Cas', then downs the whole thing.

Castiel sips his own drink as he tries to figure out why Dean isn't happy for him. He's been nothing but supportive until now. However, as quickly as Dean's mood soured, it returns to his usual equal parts cocky and tender demeanor. “You're gonna knock them off their feet. They don't know what to do without ya, huh? They need you back, because they're nothing without you,” Dean says before topping off Cas' glass and pouring himself another. He grabs Cas by the wrist and pulls him out onto the fire escape, where they've spent many summer nights talking till the early hours of the morning. Dean sits on the stairs while Cas sits on the landing, and they talk like they always do, about the ballet and Dean's shop and Emma and Sam.

It's easy, and time slips by until Cas has to leave for the theater, and Dean needs to get back to work. Cas doesn't want to leave though. He feels it in his bones that he doesn't want to go tonight, like something bad will happen if he performs. He's as superstitious as the next dancer, but he can't afford to be. He rolls his glass between his hands as he looks up at Dean, who looks out at the city.

“Would you come tonight if I asked you to?” he asks, though he feels selfish for even voicing it. Dean looks over at him, concern written clearly across his features.

“Something wrong, Cas?”

“It doesn't feel right. I—”

“Yeah, you reserve me a ticket, and I'll be there,” Dean says without needing an explanation.

Dean drives him to the theater without saying much. As they arrive, the feeling in Cas' gut gets even stronger. “I will see you tonight, after the show?” Cas asks softly as he gathers his bag between his feet.

“Sure thing, Cas. Don't stress. You're gonna be amazing as usual,” Dean says as he leans in and kisses Cas softly. Cas smiles at him as he steps away from the car, even though it's forced. It feels too much like goodbye.

The show goes smoothly. He may be a bit distracted, but nothing goes wrong, and the audience gives them a standing ovation, so his performance could not have been too terrible. Cas gathers his things and makes his apologies as he goes out to look for Dean. He just wants to ride home with Dean and sleep curled against Dean's side. They've never spent the night together, but he thinks Dean will be game.

Until Dean is nowhere to be found. The usher in Dean's section says that a broad shouldered, handsome man sat in the seat Cas reserved, but he left after the curtain call. Cas looks around the lobby and down the block to where Dean sometimes parks to wait for him. He starts to worry about Emma—maybe something happened to her?

He digs out his phone as he paces on the side walk. Dean doesn't pick up. He texts Dean while he waits for a taxi, and as he's about to give the driver directions to Dean's apartment, he gets a reply.

- _Sorry, I had to run. Dinner didn't agree with me. You were great though.-_

Cas looks at the message and debates going to check on Dean, but he thinks better of it. Dean probably just wants to go to bed if he isn't feeling well. Cas has a routine he needs to do before he can sleep, and it would only disturb Dean.

\---

Three days later, Cas hasn't heard from Dean since the text in the taxi. He's left messages and texts. He's stopped by his apartment, but no one was home. He's even tried to talk to Emma, but she wasn't at her dance lesson the day Cas visited.

Cas' performances are suffering. It's probably not noticeable to anyone but himself, but he feels the tension in his body. His moves are forced instead of graceful, and he feels like he dances with weights tied to his limbs. Ruby looks at him with concern after his arm wobbles slightly as he holds her. His lift is still steady and sure, but the minute tremor still has her keeping an eye on him.

“Are you sleeping?” she asks after the performance.

Cas looks at her in confusion. “Yes,” he lies, because he hasn't really slept since Dean said he wasn't feeling well.

“Are you eating?”

Cas rolls his eyes at her.

“Then what's got you tied in knots? You're a mess out there. I mean, sure you still dance circles around some of us, but you are in fact a mess,” she says as he points to the tremor in his hands which rest between his knees.

“I am fine.”

“Bullshit. I'm not your girlfriend, Castiel. I'm not asking because I want to hold you and let you cry on my shoulder. I'm telling you to fix your shit, so you don't ruin my show or my career. The world may be tripping over itself to get a piece of you, but I'm a dime a dozen. So, don't ruin my moment,” she says, and it's the first honest conversation they share.

“You are not dime a dozen, Ruby. You are truly gifted,” Cas says, and he finds he's being honest too.

Ruby snorts at him in disbelief, but softens when she realizes he isn't being an ass. “It's not always the gift that gets you far, Cas. You should know that. You went halfway around the world because of it. Just don't drop me, yeah?” she says as she rests her bag over her shoulder and waves to Meg, who is talking quietly to Crowley near the door.

“I don't drop my partners,” he answers solemnly.

“Then where is tall, freckled, and smokin' hot?” Ruby asks with a teasing smile, but it fades when she realizes she's hit a sore spot. “You want to come out and grab a drink with Meg and I, Cas? It's ladies night, so no shitty exes allowed,” she says, but Cas waves her off.

“Have a good time with Meg, Ruby. I will be fine,” he says, lifting his own bag and walking toward the exit. He waves to them as he slips into the first taxi he flags down, and they wave back with sympathetic smiles.

Cas doesn't go home. He goes to Anna's studio, only to find the woman herself pouring over bills and financial statements. She doesn't look up as he comes through the door. Her long red hair hangs limply over her shoulder, and she grabs for a mug only to find it empty. She looks about as defeated as Cas feels, and it hits him harder than he expects.

“What is wrong, Anna?” he asks as he drops his bag in the waiting area before stepping into her small office. The same office she let him watch his videos in, the office he met Emma in.

“Teaching dance to inner city kids isn't exactly a lucrative career, Cas,” Anna says as she puts her pen down, rubbing her eyes tiredly. He hasn't seen her since the show opened. She came opening night like Dean, but he hadn't been able to see her after the show. It's barely been a couple weeks, but she looks gaunt, like she's been sleeping less than he has.

“You are in trouble?” he asks as he looks down at the stack of bills she has spread in front of her.

“I've been in trouble since I opened this place. It's nothing new. Don't worry about it, Cas,” she says as she gathers the papers into a neat pile and shoves them into her desk unceremoniously. Cas wants to say something, but Anna gives him a look that brooks no argument. “You want some tea? You look like you aren't doing so hot either. What's got Chicago's golden boy dancer looking like the weight of the world rests on his shoulders?” she asks as she grabs another mug off the shelf without waiting for an answer.

“I do not wish to burden you, Anna,” Cas says as he looks over the pictures on Anna's desk. There are none of family, just photos of her with various students. Some of them Castiel recognizes, but others must be older students. They all look so happy wrapped in Anna's arms after a recital, or in the studio getting instruction.

He remembers how excited Emma was to dance with him when they first met, how dance was a delight and not a means to a career. Cas has loved dance like a sibling for as long as he can remember. It has always been a part of his life. It sat with his family at meals, all his mother and Michael talked about. It followed him to school and it ate up his free time. It was what he turned to when his father left. It saw him through lovers and growing pains. It has always been the one constant in his life, but Castiel can't remember the last time it brought that sort of smile to his face. The kind of smile that was more than an upturn of lips, but a warming of his heart.

But he can remember.

_“Can we forget about the show tonight? I want to see something that's just you. Nothing you've ever done before. I just want to see you dance,” Dean says as he holds Cas to his chest. They're sprawled naked over Cas' sweats and towels from his gym bag. The bottle of lube he's started carrying at all times is leaking and likely staining the floor a few feet away. He's pleasantly sore from the exertion, and his eyelids are heavy._

_“I just danced with you for an hour. No more dance tonight. Now we sleep,” Cas says as he snuggles closer to Dean's side, pressing light kisses over his pecs and shoulder._

_“But I want to see you dance for me,” Dean wheedles, and Cas huffs out a soft sigh._

_“Sentimental fool,” Cas says fondly as he rises to kneel over Dean's naked body. “If I must dance, then you must dance with me,” he says as he pulls Dean to his feet._

_“Wait a second. I don't know the first thing about dancing,” Dean argues, but Cas just gives him a mischievous smile._

_“I will teach you like you teach me how to fix the shower,” Cas replies as he pulls Dean close to him. Their bare bodies line up and Cas dips in for a slow kiss. “Stand here,” he says against Dean's soft lips. “Left leg forward, right back and pointed. Good. Now put this arm here and give me this one,” he says as he runs his fingers over Dean's body manipulating his form into first arabesque. “Now stay there,” he says as he steps away._

_He can feel Dean's eyes watching him hungrily as he slowly walks around Dean's form. He runs his fingers over Dean's freckled shoulders and pauses to correct Dean's stance, more to touch him than really fix anything. He enjoys watching the goosebumps rise on Dean's flesh where his fingers tread, but eventually he steps away._

_Cas lets his eyes meet Dean's before he moves. He just holds Dean's gaze for the count of eight, before he slowly finds his position and does a slow pirouette keeping his free leg tight and his ankles together instead of raising it into a passé position. He lets himself glide out of the turn letting his body follow his arm as he guides himself in front of Dean into a pas de ciseaux._

_His movements are slow and free as he dances around Dean. His connections are not as clean as they would be if he were choreographing a routine, but he lets one thing flow into the next as he wishes. His mother would call it sloppy, but Cas finds it freeing to dance around Dean to his heart's content. Dean's eyes never leave his naked form as he spins and jumps and poses just out of reach._

_When Dean's arms must be getting heavy from being extended for too long, Castiel glides into Dean's space and does another tight pirouette right in front of him. “First position,” Cas says as he spins on the ball of his foot._

_“Which one is that?” Dean asks, and Cas flashes him a toothy smile as he turns again._

_“Heels together, toes apart.”_

_Dean gets into position, and only teeters minutely as Cas ceases to spin in front of him and goes into second arabesque lifting his back leg and rising to the ball of his foot. “Now, you lift me...if you can,” Cas says with an edge of challenge in his voice._

_Dean grunts behind him, but quickly his strong, callused hands are wrapped around his hips. “Like this?” he asks right against Cas' ear._

_“Is not proper form, but I doubt you can lift me properly,” Cas says as he leans back into Dean, resting his head on Dean's shoulder. The curve of his back arching around Dean's chest as he bends his extended leg to curl around Dean's hip._

_“I like this position,” Dean says softly as he runs his fingers over Cas' taut stomach. Cas rolls his eyes, but stays still, letting Dean touch his body freely, exploring his chest and ghosting along his thighs. When his hands return to Cas' hips again, they are both hard, but neither make a move to do anything about it._

_Cas lets Dean take his weight as he lifts his leg off the ground, and Dean widens his stance to support him carefully. He kisses Cas' neck, and they both look at themselves in the wall of mirrors, Cas arching around Dean's sturdy form._

_Slowly Cas stands again and steps away from Dean, but he takes his hand and urges him to follow. Dean stays behind him still holding his hand, while Cas guides his other hand to his hip. “Just follow me,” he says as he steps into a pirouette, with his and Dean's hands raised above them. Dean's hand finds his hip again when he stops, and Dean follows him around the floor holding onto Cas as he dances, letting his fingers brush against Cas as he moves._

_It's more intimate than anything Cas has ever experienced. He's not only physically bared for Dean, but emotionally he's showing Dean the core of who he is, and Dean handles it and him with great care. He's never felt so cherished as when Dean's fingers trail over the arch of his back as he lifts into an arabesque or over his muscled stomach when he's laid out over Dean's strong arm._

_They must dance together for nearly an hour, but neither are aware of anything but each other as they move seamlessly around the studio. Dean does little more than walk beside Cas as he moves, be he is graceful in his own way, never blocking Cas' progress and always knowing where Cas is going. It is as though they share one mind, and Cas lets himself give into the movement without thinking about what will come next, because Dean will be there._

_They are both covered in sweat when Cas does his final pirouette, only stopping as he wraps his leg around Dean's hip and sags into an exhausted hug. Dean holds him up easily then lifts him so he can wrap his other leg around Dean too. He shuffles Cas back to their nest of clothes and blankets and lays him out there._

_Neither of them say anything as they lie together panting softly in the quiet room. Cas turns to look at Dean, and he finds Dean watching him with tenderness in his eyes. Cas doesn't have the energy to fight the smile that beams straight from the warmth in his chest._

“Castiel, what's wrong?” Anna asks, and Cas is startled when she wipes a tear away from his cheek with the side of her thumb. “Oh Cas,” she says sympathetically when he looks up at her through teary eyes.

“I do not know what I did, Anna. He will not speak to me. I worried he was ill, but I know now that he is avoiding me,” Cas admits as Anna puts a steaming mug down in front of him.

“Who is he?” Anna asks, and Cas can't help but laugh.

“Dean.”

“Oh... _oh_. I should have known. What happened that put you at odds?” she asks as she gently rubs his back.

“I do not know. Everything was wonderful. I felt like I was part of a family again. He came to the premiere. He even brought his brother to meet me.”

“Something must have happened, Cas. Dean is...Dean is fiercely loyal. He wouldn't just stop speaking to you altogether. He has many faults, but he isn't cruel. Did someone say something to him? When did he stop speaking to you?”

“I lost my phone for several days. When I got it back, my mother had left a message. She wants me home. They promised to build a ballet around me if I return. I was so excited. That has been my dream since I was a boy, but after I told Dean, I felt sick and the feeling hasn't left me. I have barely been able to focus on performing,” Cas explains as he sips his tea.

“Castiel, you're an idiot,” Anna says with a deep sigh. Cas is shocked by her conclusion, but she continues to smile at him sadly. “You realize you told your boyfriend that you are moving halfway around the world without even consulting him?”

“I...” Cas' mouth flaps a few times as he thinks about how he told Dean. He thinks about how he expected him to celebrate Cas' success, and he thinks about how he would've been crushed had Dean been the one to say he was leaving.

“Cas, Dean may be a great man. He's loyal. He is there whenever he's needed. He puts others before himself, and he's a god in the sack. But Dean's also a scared little boy, who has been abandoned by just about everyone he's ever loved. His mother died when he was a child. His father was a negligent alcoholic. He's lost a lot of people, and when his brother went away to school, Dean left home with nothing but the money in his wallet and his old car. Hell, that car is the most stable relationship he's ever had. He's afraid of commitment, because he's afraid of letting his guard down and getting abandoned again.

“I met Dean before he knew about Emma. He was a love 'em and leave 'em sort of guy. He refused to talk about himself while he was with you, and he left before you woke in the morning. He spent years living out of his car with nothing but the road to call home, because he was scared. He still is, but now he's got Emma to keep him grounded,” Anna explains as she looks through her desk.

She finally finds a dog-eared picture of a younger Dean and herself, seated on the hood of the Impala both with drunken smiles on their faces. Dean was still handsome, but even with the wide grin, he had dark circles under his eyes and a fading bruise on his jaw.

Cas just stares at the picture for a while. “I didn't think that I'd have to leave him,” Cas says finally. “I could only think about my dreams—” Cas cuts himself off as he rises. He looks down at the picture in his hand again, then up at Anna. “Do you have a car?” he asks abruptly.

“No, sorry. Why do you need one?” Anna asks in confusion.

“He took her camping. Emma was not at dance yesterday. Dean took her away because camping reminds him of the road,” Cas says as he places the picture on the desk before he crumples it by accident.

“Benny has a camper. He should just be getting off of work. He'll drive you if you ask him,” Anna offers as she starts going through her phone to find his number.

An hour later, Cas is sitting beside Benny in the cab of his huge truck as they ride out of the city toward the campgrounds Dean had brought him to months earlier.

“You know you're an ass, but he'll forgive you,” Benny breaks the oppressive silence between them.

“What makes you say that?” Cas lets his curiosity get the better of him even though he feels like Benny is judging him.

“I just know,” Benny says before letting the silence hang again.

Cas doesn't have Benny's confidence, and the ride stretches into a slide show of all the times he was selfish with Dean and took and took what Dean had to offer. He feels sick by the time Benny pulls onto the gravel road of the campground. It's nearly two in the morning, and Benny actually bribes the park ranger with a fifty dollar bill and a fresh pie to let them in and tell them which site Dean booked.

Thankfully, it's the same one he had earlier in the summer, and it isn't far into the park. Benny drives slower than a snail as they approach the site, and the first they see of any life is Dean holding a shotgun level with the windshield wearing nothing but boxers and combat boots.

“Ain't he charming,” Benny laughs before flashing his lights a few times, then holding a second pie out the window. Dean lowers his gun immediately.

“Don't you know it's almost four am?” Dean calls over as Emma scurries to his side and hugs his leg. “You're going to be the one that sings her to sleep now,” Dean says as Benny steps out of the truck.

“Tell that to Romeo over here,” Benny says as he hikes his thumb at Cas, who tries to exit the truck as quietly as possible.

Cas feels Dean's eyes pin him in place, and even in the dark he sees Dean's wrist flinch as though he wants to lift the gun again. However, Emma is off like a shot running to Cas and wrapping her arms around his legs. “Cas, you came! Daddy said you were too busy to come with us this time,” she says excitedly as she starts to pull him toward her father.

Cas can hear Dean mutter _traitor_ to Benny as he snatches the pie out of the big man's hands. Cas wants to talk to Dean immediately, but Emma won't let go of him as she drags him toward their little tent, chattering excitedly about how she made him a s'more just in case he came. He can feel Dean's eyes on him even as he and Benny relight the fire.

“How'd you get roped into this?” Dean asks Benny as they stoke the growing flames.

“Anna told me I was a monster who didn't believe in love if I refused. The woman's got a temper, Dean, and her and Pam are close ever since you introduced them at the summer barbeque. I'm not losing bedroom privileges just because your relationship is in the crapper,” Benny replies as he cuts the pie into a few slices.

Dean doesn't even take a plate as he cradles the flaky pastry in his hand. Emma crawls out of Cas' lap to snitch a bite from Dean's slice, but she quickly scurries back to her perch afterward.

Conversation is stilted, and Dean basically ignores Cas in favor of talking to Benny about sports and the diner until Emma falls asleep in Cas' arms. She'd been mid story when she finally dropped off, but Dean immediately turns to look at her when her head lolls against Cas' chest.

“I got her,” Benny says softly when Dean looks like he's about to say something. “Just get it over with, Dean. I didn't drive out here in the middle of the night for you to have one of your anti-feelings protests. We all know you're a softie, so don't try to pretend otherwise. Assholes don't get free pie.”

With that said, Benny scoops Emma out of Cas' arms without disturbing her at all. She looks so tiny cradled in his big arms, and Cas can't help but notice that Dean watches them with an expression of adoration.

“I—”

“We aren't having this talk with my daughter ten feet away. Let's go,” Dean says as he gets to his feet and starts walking away from the camp. He has a flashlight in his hands, but the small amount of light from that doesn't stop Cas from stumbling in the dark.

Dean doesn't say anything as he takes Cas' hand and pulls Cas to his side, so he can guide him. “I can find my own way,” Cas protests, even though it feels good to walk beside Dean again. He just feels like he's using Dean even more.

“Yeah, and you can also break your ankle and be out of a job,” Dean grunts as he wraps his arm around Cas' waist to prevent him from going anywhere. They walk in silence until Dean brings them to the lake that all of the camp sites boarder. He guides them through the trees to the bank and takes a seat, pulling Cas down with him. “So, why'd you make Benny drive you all the way out here?” Dean asks with a resigned sigh.

“I lied,” Cas says simply as he stares out at the lake. He hadn't known how to broach the subject the entire ride here. He'd just thought about all of the chances he'd had to tell Dean how he felt and how he'd used all of Dean's kindness and love without ever assuring Dean of his own love.

“You lied?” Dean deadpans. “Well that is how most people get what they want from unwilling participants.”

“No, I lied to you. You asked me if I ever wanted to be anything other than a dancer. I want to be part of a family. I had never been part of one before I came here. I thought I had a family. I had many siblings, and I had my mother, but Mother and Michael have only ever been concerned with the company. Dance was my mother's child, not me. Gabriel was a good brother, but he left, as did Father. I think I jumped out that window after he left not so much because I wished to fly, but because I wanted to end my career...”

“Cas you were eight,” Dean says skeptically.

“Yes, but we knew as soon as we could walk what was expected of us. I think I wanted to be loved for something other than my talents. Back then I was brave enough to do something about it. Now, I just lie to myself,” Cas speaks slowly as he runs his fingers through the dewy grass.

“You mean you were reckless enough to jump out a window,” Dean corrects, but he falls silent again, letting Cas speak freely as he always does.

“I thought I was rebelling by coming here. I thought I was showing my family that I could be more of a dancer than they ever believed. I thought that if I could break barriers, perhaps they would be proud of me. However, it was for naught. They only wish me back, because I am a success. A bankable one. They do not want _me_ back but my talent. And I was very blind, Dean, because when my mother told me she wanted her son home, I believed. I believed that it was my chance. My chance to perform as I'd dreamed, and my chance to have a family again,” Cas says as he grips the grass tightly and starts to tear it out of the ground.

“But I already have a family,” Cas says so quietly that he sees Dean lean in to hear his words. “I have you and Emma and Anna, and I should have taken my own advice. I was so blinded by what I wanted that I forgot that getting that would mean giving you up.”

“Cas, I don't want you to give up your dream for me. You're allowed to want things. You're allowed to walk away to do what _you_ want,” Dean cuts in, but Cas shakes his head vehemently.

“It's not my dream! It is my mother's dream, my brother's dream. I have been their dutiful child for so long that I did not even realize I might want something else. I want you. I want Emma. I want the twisted piece of metal that holds my house keys. I want to watch you take apart the stove when it stops working and hand you the tools while you fix it. I want to iron the pictures you print out onto Emma's leotards, because you are horrible at getting the design straight...”

“I was distracted by a certain ballerina getting kicked in the face,” Dean grumbles, but Cas can hear the affection, and it encourages him.

“I want to meet your brother for real and be able to talk to him about what you were like growing up. I want—”

“I get it, Cas. You don't want to lose me, but what happens when the show ends? You can want to have a life with us, but you'll be out of a career if you do. Are you going to tour? Maybe another city will want a gig with you, but it won't be here. You'd be miserable if you stayed with this company, and you'd step on a lot of toes if you did. And, I can't go with you because I've got Emma, and as much as I love you, I'm not abandoning my kid for you...”

“I want to open a studio with Anna.”

“Huh?”

“I want to teach. All of the children at Anna's studio are always so excited to learn. They love dance in a way I never did, because everything needed to be perfect. The first day I met Emma, I wanted to correct her technique. I wanted to tell her that dance was serious and you shouldn't fool around.”

“I would've punched you if you did,” Dean grunts.

“I would have deserved it. Yes, dance is serious and criticism is important when one wishes to be a professional, but happiness has its merits as well,” Cas says as he glances over at Dean. The first tendrils of light are on the horizon, and he can see the serious expression on Dean's face.

“So, you want to give up your whole career to teach kids how not to be professional dancers? You know how backwards that sounds? When did you decide this?” he asks in disbelief.

“Tonight, but that is beside the point,” Cas says fiercely. “Maybe this is why I came here. I want to teach others to love dance whether they are very skilled or not. I can help people, like you do. Not the same way, but I won't just be the company's or my family's doll,” Cas tries to explain.

“And while you do that, you want to stay with an underachieving mechanic/handyman? Cas, you're an idiot,” Dean says as he rubs his face.

“I have been told that multiple times tonight, though Benny's word was harsher,” Cas replies as he bumps his shoulder with Dean's.

“I bet it was. I just don't want to hold you back, Cas...”

“But you are the one that makes me dance my best. You are the one who helped me find my true potential. I have wings when I dance for you...”

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean says as he wraps his hand around the back of Cas' neck and pulls him in for a slow kiss. “I love you, but if you are staying, you're staying. In six months when you've got snotty kids coughing all over you and grabbing at you during flu season, you don't get to decide to pack it in. Emma and I are a package deal, and if you up and abandon my kid, I will hunt you down, and they'll have to identify you by your ballet slippers, because that's all they'll find,” Dean tries to sound serious, but even in the dim light, Cas can see the smile fighting to claim his lips.

“Luckily, I have a very strong immune system,” Cas says as he leans in until Dean lies back in the grass, pulling Cas over his body.

“You're lucky I'm a push over.”

“I am. I'm also lucky that you love me, because I love you with all of my heart,” Cas says before kissing Dean again. Dean holds him tightly to his chest even after they pull away from the kiss. They stay there in the grass, clinging to each other until the sun rises over the lake, then they slowly wander back to camp to see what Benny's cooking up for breakfast.

Emma rushes to them as they come out of the trees. “So did you and daddy kiss and make up? He was very sad before you came. I wanted to call, but he said he lost your number, but he's a liar. He has a picture of you on his phone. I'm not allowed to see it, but I know it's you because he looks at it like he looks at you...”

“Baby, take a breath,” Dean says as he scoops his daughter up onto his hip before wrapping his other arm around Cas' waist again.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, Emma, we have made up,” Castiel says as Dean looks at him apologetically.

“Thank god! Anna, Pam, and some girl named Meg have been texting me all night wanting details. Who the hell is Meg anyway, and why are her and my girlfriend suddenly dangerously good friends?” Benny asks even as he gets out his phone and starts to dial said girlfriend. “Look, I love you Dean, but I need to get back to Pam before she runs off with this Meg and raises Hell that I certainly don't want to be left cleaning up. You need me to take Emma back to her mom's?”

Emma pouts, but shimmies out of Dean's arms before he can reply. “We get the pie!” she exclaims as she runs into Benny's arms.

“Thanks, Benny...for everything,” Dean says as Benny bundles Emma into the tiny back seat of his truck.

“Not a problem, brother. Enjoy your morning,” Benny says as he climbs into his truck.

Dean holds Cas close to his side until they are out of sight before he pushes Cas against the nearest tree and kisses him breathless.

The End

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this. You can also find me on [Tumblr](http://jinxedambitions.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Grand Pas de Deux](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2804378) by [Lynx22281](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynx22281/pseuds/Lynx22281)




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